


The Story of Us

by inanotheruniverse



Series: seulrene divorce au [1]
Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: F/F, Minor Park Sooyoung | Joy/Kim Yerim | Yeri, Minor Son Seungwan | Wendy/Jung Eunji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 59,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24369589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanotheruniverse/pseuds/inanotheruniverse
Summary: Seulgi’s world ends in a small, square room. Four walls and white, with a broken beat in the background that she slowly realizes is her heart.or the seulrene divorce au no one asked for
Relationships: Bae Joohyun | Irene/Kang Seulgi
Series: seulrene divorce au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935928
Comments: 16
Kudos: 141





	1. one: my room feels wrong; the bed won’t fit

_i really fucked it up this time, didn’t i, my dear?_

_\- little lion man, mumford & sons _

Seulgi’s world ends in a small, square room. Four walls and white, with a broken beat in the background that she slowly realizes is her heart.

In her hands is a pen and a piece of paper that feels like a death sentence, while the lawyer next to her is the jury who didn’t give Seulgi any chance to fight.

“Thank you for cooperating, thus making this process very amicable,” he says. A disembodied voice Seulgi can’t put a face to despite having met with him countless of times the past few weeks. “We’ll be taking it from here.”

He shakes a hand with another man in the same black suit. Seulgi briefly wonders if she should have worn black too. It feels like a funeral after all, with her having to dig six feet under a proverbial ground to find a place to stick her heart into; a space where it doesn’t hurt.

(There is none.) 

In the end, all Seulgi does is keep her head down and burn a hole on the dark mahogany desk she’s propped on, as the hard scrape of chairs against the wooden floor screeches sharp all over the dingy room.

Her eyes are stinging, her throat is parched. But all Seulgi will remember is how her world splits in half as she watches her now ex-wife (but forever the love of her life) walk away, leaving Seulgi as the memory Irene would rather forget.

...

  
  


_The rain started in a drizzle, feather light droplets that stuck to one’s hair like dew. Seulgi had walked long enough for the beads to pool on her hair, forming tiny globes that slid down to her shoulders and through the rough fabric of her gray coat._

_Then, it began to pour. Her steps grew quicker as she headed towards her usual way home. But the drizzle turned into showers in a blink, bucketfuls that made Seulgi sure there was no way she was going to make it back to her apartment remotely dry._

_Such a bad time to wear her new coat, really._

_Her feet swiveled right, back to where the lone cafe she passed by a little while ago was. It was half-empty then, but the once overcast sky had turned even more darker that it rounded people up by the cafe’s front, lining them all under the shelter of the curved green roofs._

_Seulgi hastily trudged inside, past the dark mahogany door and into the warmth that the cafe offered. Though, the place was almost full now, and she almost barrelled into the last person that was standing on the cashier’s line what with the long queue practically reaching the doorway._

_Seulgi muttered a quick apology and bowed a few times before squeezing her way through, towards the booth she just spotted a young couple sliding out of._

_She weaved through the various tables and chairs, with a certain grace borne from rigorous practices and rehearsals her pursued degree called for. It honestly almost felt like a dance as the cafe’s music crooned in her ears, one that ended up with her finally reaching the booth and sliding smoothly inside._

_Or, it would have. If not for this smaller form that crashed right into her, a lighter weight that Seulgi barely really felt._

_She was petite yet all angular; at least her shoulder was. Seulgi caught the brunt of the impact, the curve of it hitting the spot just below her collarbone. But she was soft, Seulgi thought, as her fingers splayed at the small of her back and her arms wound around the smaller woman by reflex to break her fall._

_“I’m sorry!” The surprised woman said. Her wide round eyes were matched with abashed red hues dotting her cheeks._

_Seulgi simply accepted the apology with a kind smile. She helped the woman right herself up, and then dropped the arms that was once supporting her weight, pulling them back to her side like a sudden shy, obedient child. “Are you okay?”_

_“I am, thank you,” the woman replied. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her cream-colored knitted sweater, then, “It’s just—I’ve been waiting around for fifteen minutes, so when I saw the vacant seat, I practically ran to it.”_

_“I guess we were after the same spot.” Seulgi shook her head gently, chuckling. Though, she turned a little hesitant when she asked—uncertain because the woman could already have a companion for all she knew; and Seulgi might be unknowingly just setting herself up for a different kind of embarrassment. “We could just share?”_

_The other woman beamed at her, but Seulgi could tell that her answering nod was shy, with the way she ducked her head into a grateful bow. “I’d like that.”_

_“Yeah?” Seulgi’s eyes disappeared behind crescent arcs. “Me too.”_

_._

_Her name was Joohyun, Seulgi had found out later on; Irene to most, but Joohyun said it was perfectly fine for Seulgi to call her that._

_She was currently doing her pre-med, majoring in Medical Technology in the same university that Seulgi was taking her Performing Arts degree at._

_And Seulgi? Seulgi was having a hard time believing her when she said she hadn’t slept a wink in three days._

_“But you’re so pretty!” She had even blurted out, to which the other woman blushed profusely at._

_“Thank you,” Irene mumbled as she nibbled at her bottom lip, shying away from Seulgi’s perplexed gaze. “I’ve actually been living in this coffee house since finals week started.”_

_Thankfully, Seulgi was quick enough to recover and fill the awkward silence that was about to fall on them. “Do I even want to know how many cups of coffee you’ve managed to consume?” She quipped, making Irene laugh softly._

_“Fortunately, I only drink tea.”_

_“Ah.” Seulgi nodded, and then made a mental note to herself to remember. She was pretty bad at remembering things, but Irene already was an exception she was willing to make._

_(Daunting, yet Seulgi didn’t feel scared at all.)_

_“How about I go get us both a cup?”_

_Irene’s eyes narrowed playfully as she threw a good-natured glare at the woman sitting in front of her. “If this is your way of telling me that I look like I desperately need one—”_

_“Nah. I mean, you could be wearing the same shirt for three days now and I still won’t be able to tell that you are...”_

_“Yah!” Irene’s hand darted out, hitting Seulgi on her arm. Her face was pulled into a grimace, at the idea of an unwashed piece of clothing touching her skin. “I don’t think I’d actually survive that.”_

_“It happens.” The other woman laughed softly. “So, red bean or green tea?”_

_“Are you trying to find out what’s my favorite drink?” Irene asked in reply. She raised her chin a little, and arched a brow at Seulgi. It was meant to be intimidating, but the smile she was fighting from shaping on her lips belied it entirely._

_A smile that made her lips quiver, her nostrils flare; that same smile that stirred something inside Seulgi that she really had no business feeling._

_“Maybe,” Seulgi then replied. She drawled the word out, and finished it off with a cheeky shrug._

_Irene hummed, squinting her eyes, this time as if she was trying to determine if Seulgi was one of those creeps she (unfortunately) often faced. But Seulgi’s smirk was nowhere near perverse; if anything, it was just downright adorable, with her eyes folding into creases that made her look earnest._

_“It’s neither,” she finally told Seulgi, whose face somewhat fell. Irene quickly discovered that she hated that look on the other woman’s face, and so she added right away. “It’s Soy Strawberries. No whipped cream.”_

_Seulgi grinned at her then. And if her heart skipped a beat, it was only because Seulgi was being really nice and she had always appreciated such gestures._

_._

_When Seulgi came back, she slid the to-go cup in front of Irene, punched the straw in while Irene was busy thumbing over her phone, and tried so very hard to keep her heart inside the cages of her chest when Irene finally had dropped her phone back inside her bag and smiled at her in gratitude._

_Irene turned the cup in its place, swearing that she was only checking if Seulgi got her name right; and that she’d be incredibly happy if she did as it was Seulgi’s first try._

_Yet the first letter of her name wasn’t even on the cup. Instead, it was a string of words—eight to be exact._

_(And if Irene looked back, she’d think it was the very first sign.)_

_For the prettiest girl I’ve met this morning._

_Irene swiped a thumb at the words jotted down, wiping the dews of the cold drink away. The corner of her lips quirked up with mischief, coaxing an ensuing blush from Seulgi as the taller woman dropped her shy gaze. “Just this morning?”_

_Seulgi chanced a glance at the glass windows before answering. There had always been something about the rain that calmed her, and right now, she needed it most for the sake of her racing heart._

_The drops hit the glass faster than bullets, splashing in bursts that was bigger than when she first walked in into the cafe. She felt happy about it, for reasons she couldn’t quite admit out loud yet, and instead simply said, “From the looks of it, even up to this afternoon.”_

_Irene took a leisurely sip of her drink, and then propped an elbow on the table, her palm catching her chin. The touch of the cold, icy liquid was like liquid courage, and Irene found herself saying, “I’m not really sure what to feel about it being so short lived.”_

_Seulgi, in turn, propped an elbow too; mimicking Irene’s posture. But she stared at Irene like she meant every word as she said, “How about tomorrow, too? And the days after that?”_

_(Because she did.)_

…

  
  


“ _Unnie_ , I thought you were having the day off?”

Seulgi looks up from the button she’s popping out of her white dress shirt—Irene’s favorite that she honestly doesn’t know why she has worn today, of _all_ days. “Yeah, but,” she starts to say, with shaky fingers struggling to unhook the last button, and her still stinging eyes bravely meeting SinB’s. “It’s uhm, it’s over.”

_Fifteen minutes_ , Seulgi’s treacherous mind whispers. It took nine hundred seconds for her entire life to unravel right before her very eyes while she sits helpless behind a wooden desk, mind blank and hands weary, unable to salvage any part.

“Oh,” SinB breathes out, pulling back as Seulgi cracks her locker door open. “Are you—are you okay?”

But it doesn’t even register in Seulgi’s ears, no. Not when her eyes catch the picture tacked behind her locker door: her kissing Irene’s cheek as they both looked and smiled at the camera.

(Seulgi hardly remembers the last time she had smiled like that, like nothing else mattered in this world but the woman wrapped in her arms.

All Seulgi ever remembers now is the taste of bile rising at the back of her throat when she heard _those_ words; the slam of their bedroom door; the way her throat closed up as she watched a sleek silver taxi take her whole world away.)

“ _Unnie_?”

Seulgi startles. It takes a second for her to look anywhere else, to collect herself together and away from the memory she’s about to spiral into. It’s an endless cycle these days, vicious and unforgiving, with a thin thread of sanity as Seulgi’s only saving grace. 

“I am,” she says. Her lips press together to form a tight smile. “Thank you for asking.”

SinB’s eyebrows draw together in concern. “You can just skip today, you know. I can teach your class instead.”

“No,” Seulgi protests, though it’s noticeably weak. She shrugs her dress shirt off and folds it with the utmost care before placing it inside her locker. (It’s a gift from Irene, after all.) “I can handle it.”

“ _Unnie_...” 

The taller woman takes a step closer, her hand reaching out towards Seulgi. But Seulgi’s already flinching away and taking a step back. So SinB simply withdraws her hand, letting it rest over her stomach instead. “I—if you’re sure.”

Seulgi’s answering nod is barely there. Her head feels heavy with _everything_ , and all she wants right now is some mindless music that can drown the resounding _it’s over_ swimming in her thoughts; until it’s pushed to that locked part of her brain where Irene resides and _Joohyun_ is written all over its walls.

“I have to go get changed,” she says. It’s a dismissal and a _please-don’t-make-me-talk-about-it_ wrapped in seven words, and so SinB acquiesces, mumbles a _see yah, unnie_ before walking out of the locker room and back to the studio.

Then, she’s alone. Her gaze returns to the picture stuck on the metal door, peeling it off the next second when the sight of Irene’s smiling face becomes too much and her heart slips through the cracks in her ribcage.

...

  
  


She goes home to an empty apartment. It’s been like _that_ for a while now, but today just cements the fact that it’ll never be filled the same way Seulgi has always dreamed of: echoes of small feet skidding against the floorboards as their kids race towards the door to welcome Seulgi home; Irene shuffling around their kitchen as she prepares dinner after a boring shift in the hospital. Her wife greeting her with a soft kiss that lingers, as if they haven’t seen each other in years even though they’ve spent their entire lunch break together.

What remains of her dream is an empty bed, Irene’s side cold and untouched, and her scent as the only memory she left behind.

...

  
  


At the corner of their spare room lies a box that Seulgi has only once had enough courage to draw near to. That one day cheap vodka was pumping in her blood and her mind was hazy enough to sift through their stuff, picking up and plucking out the rest of the things Irene owned but had left for reasons that escaped Seulgi at that time.

She put them all inside _that_ box, just in case Irene decides to come back for them (and inevitably erase every single proof of her existence in Seulgi’s life).

It takes her a hefty-priced whiskey this time. Four shots, and her vision spinning. She’s swaying a little when she tugs the flaps open, her fingers trembling as she fishes out the picture she took off of her locker door from the back pocket of her jeans.

Seulgi gives it a last look, letting nimble fingers trace Irene’s face. There’s a wistful smile on her lips as she holds it closer, eyes fluttering shut when the smoothness of paper presses against her forehead. 

“I love you,” she whispers to an empty room. It rings hollow, devoid of the spirit that once coursed in Seulgi’s veins. “Please always be happy.”

.

(And she means it, she really does. More than anything else, all Seulgi ever wants is for Irene to be perfectly happy.

Even if her happiness costs hers.)

...

  
  


_Seulgi chanced a glance at the woman sitting right in front of her. She had her head down, nose buried in one of those medical journals that Seulgi couldn’t be bothered remembering the title of._

_Her long blonde hair was tucked behind her ears, and from Seulgi’s spot, she could see the curves of it sticking out._

_It was a rare sight that Seulgi couldn’t pass up the chance on, and so she picked up her phone resting on the table, tapping at the camera application and sneakily taking a picture of the most beautiful woman she had the greatest luck of calling her girlfriend._

_Irene’s head shot up as soon as the shutter sound went off, her eyes narrowing while she stared at Seulgi. “What are you doing?”_

_“I needed something new to sketch,” Seulgi answered, shrugging it off._

_“Baby, my hair’s a mess!” Irene whined in protest. “It’s probably sticking out in all directions right now.”_

_But Seulgi’s eyes only grew tender despite finding the notion ridiculous. Because Irene could be covered in all kinds of grease and soot like a homeless person and she would still find her absolutely beautiful. “You look perfect, Hyun-ah.”_

_A dust of pink covered Irene’s cheeks, warmth climbing up to the tips of her ears. “You’re just saying that.”_

_“I’m not,” Seulgi assured in between soft chuckles. She pulled her chair closer to Irene’s, bending a little and propping her arms against her knees just so she could meet Irene’s bashful eyes._

_She stared at her, drinking her sight in. Irene’s hair was indeed a mess from the numerous times she had run her fingers through it. It had been a tight shift so far, with the emergency room backed up from the several traumas that came in due to the snow that had been falling for days._

_Irene’s white coat was already creased, the result of a fourteen hour shift and still counting. Her baby blue scrubs seemed well-worn and in need of a change._

_Her face was bare, devoid of any makeup. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked like she needed a few hours of sleep. Or a shower, at least._

_(But Irene had foregone all of that to spend some time with Seulgi. This was the first time they were able to meet in three days, and they’d just both been dying to see the other even though they were both not going to admit it.)_

_She looked ethereal, with that shy smile that quirked her lips, and her round eyes doe-like and sheepish. And she was looking at Seulgi in a way that made Seulgi wonder what the hell it was that she had done right to be given this chance._

_Seulgi couldn’t help but think that right here, in this moment, Irene took her breath away._

_(It wasn't the first time, and it was clearly not going to be the last.)_

_“You’re so beautiful.”_

_“You just want to make out in the oncall room again,” Irene quipped, feigning a huff. “Well guess what, Kang Seulgi, it’s not going to happen again. Or ever. That last time was enough of a close call.”_

_Seulgi laughed at the memory of a very, very pale Irene pushing her out of the oncall room, after Yongsun had knocked on the door and hissed that their chief resident was coming right at the corner._

_“Hey, I’m not the one who pulled you by the tie, didn’t I?”_

_“You wore that tie on purpose!” Irene tried to defend. Her indignation was not feigned this time, but it was belied by the growing flush swiftly heating up her cheeks. “And that black coat! You caught me off guard!”_

_Seulgi hummed as she nodded her head. The smile she was sending Irene’s way was playful, bordering into a smirk that Irene badly wanted to kick off of her face._

_Or kiss. Preferably so. Kiss the smirk off of her face until Seulgi would forget her own name and only remember Joohyun_ , _and Irene would be victorious in the end._

_“We can’t, Seulgi. I mean it.”_

_“I’m not saying anything,” Seulgi said. Her nostrils flared as she tamped down the urge to grin. “It’s not like you still have ten minutes left before your next surgery and there’s an unoccupied room down the hallway… oh wait.”_

_Irene raised a hand, flicking the other woman on her forehead. “I said no.”_

_“Yeah?” Seulgi challenged. “Even if I say that I have something really important to tell you?”_

_“Then tell me here.”_

_“Really?” She looked around, making a show of scanning the entire floor and taking note of all the people that passed them by. “You want me to tell you here?”_

_“Yes,” Irene replied, voice resolute. She was sure it’d be something silly, knowing how her girlfriend was most of the time. Or, God forbid, something embarrassingly lewd. But Irene was prepared to take that than risk getting caught by their overly strict, pompous chief resident._

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yes!” She affirmed. Her brows scrunched, throwing a disapproving look at Seulgi’s teasing smirk. It was as if Seulgi knew a secret that Irene absolutely had no idea about. “Yah, Kang Seulgi. I only have eight minutes left.”_

_“I don’t know.” Seulgi titled her head, pretending to mull it over. “I mean, it’s something that should really be for your ears only.”_

_“It’s obscene, isn’t it,” Irene deadpanned, eyes rolling. “Can’t it wait till we get back to my place? I have to go up to the surgery suite.”_

_She turned back towards the table to flip the journal sprawled open above it to a close, and then picked it up and cradled it in her arm. She slid her phone inside the right pocket of her white coat next._

_Irene faced a still-stooped Seulgi once more, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on Seulgi’s lips while her fingers busied themselves in gathering her hair up into a messy bun. “I’ll see you at dinner?”_

_Seulgi, though, was quiet. She just continued to stare at Irene, looking like she had no plans of moving from where she was._

_Irene, in turn, frowned at this. She was expecting to hear a yes as she pushed off her chair to stand, but Seulgi was just smiling at her, Seulgi’s enamored eyes trailing her every move._

_“Baby?” Irene asked, cupping a hand over Seulgi’s cheek. “Are you okay?”_

_Slowly, then, Seulgi straightened up. Her arms slid from where they were propped on, wrapping around Irene’s waist and pulling her closer, until she could rest her chin on Irene’s stomach._

_“Seulgi-yah?”_

_She nuzzled Irene’s stomach a few times, seeking the warmth that Irene had always offered. Then, she tipped her head back up again to look at the woman who held her heart right on her palm, then said._

_“I love you, Joohyun.”_

_._

_Irene blinked. Fast. Hard. Her eyes fluttered nonstop much like the butterflies that had gotten loose and soared all over her insides. “Oh my God.”_

_Her mouth opened and closed several times, her tongue unable to form intelligible words. Her chest heaved jagged breaths full of surprise, that got longer and deeper as the glitter in Seulgi’s eyes shined._

_Irene could only pull back a little from Seulgi’s still tight hold. Then, she shoved Seulgi by her shoulder, her voice shaking with disbelief as she said, “You—you say something like this when I’m about to scrub in on a surgery! Yah Kang Seulgi!”_

_Seulgi’s grin grew fuller, the arms twined around Irene loosening up quickly to give the other woman enough room to let her words sink in._

_She stood up and pocketed her hands, watching the other woman with nothing but pure amusement—and a heart that swelled tenfolds upon finally getting to admit those words that she had been dying to say since their first kiss—as Irene poked her in the chest with an accusing finger. “You do these things just to—to faze me!”_

_Seulgi pressed her lips together, and wordlessly covered the hand hovering above her chest with her own. Her fingers pried closed ones open, until they lay splayed flat on that spot where her heart lied beneath, beating. “I have to keep you on your toes, baby. You know I’m such a no jam. I don’t want you to get bored of me easily.”_

_Irene clucked her tongue, then, “You know I won’t.” But her voice quivered for an entirely different reason this time, feeling how fast Seulgi’s heartbeat was racing underneath her palm. “What are you even talking about?”_

_Matched with a watery smile, Seulgi could see right past the irked front Irene was putting. She smiled at her, fondness tugging at the corner of her lips as genuine understanding settled on her face. “You don’t have to say it back right now. I just… I really just couldn’t keep it any longer.”_

_Irene sniffled as she swallowed thickly. She pulled her hand back from where Seulgi was pinning it in place, though she did not waste any second—even the littlest time where doubt could seep in; because no matter how much Seulgi would say and could say that she’d understand, Irene had no plans on making her feel like she didn’t feel the same way—and laced her arms around Seulgi’s waist._

_Her fingers locked together, resting the heels of her palms at the small of Seulgi’s back as she tucked her face in the crook of Seulgi’s neck. Warm breath hit Seulgi’s skin as she murmured, “I love you too, even if you’re like this.”_

_Irene heard more than felt the small breath of relief Seulgi had let out, and she couldn’t help but feel relieved too, knowing she did it right._

_“You love me like this,” Seulgi replied. She let her hands run up and down Irene’s back as she felt wetness pool in that space that connected her neck and her shoulder, that same spot where Irene’s face was currently buried in._

_The cloth of Irene’s white coat was rough under her palm, but it was a soothing motion that evened Irene’s sniffling breaths, so Seulgi didn’t mind it at all._

_She planted small kisses all over Irene’s head: the top of her hair, along the lines that shaped her face, Irene’s temples, above that mole in her right eye; before pressing a final one that lingered at the crown of her head._

_Then, she said. “Do you want to take that oncall room now?”_

_“It’s still a no, Kang Seulgi.”_

...

  
  


She briefly considers making dinner, when her stomach growls in reminder that she hasn’t really eaten anything substantial throughout the day. 

(What for, really, if she can taste nothing but the acid at the back of her throat that refuses to settle down, and everything else she tries to take simply ends up on the floor or on any other surface.)

There’s some left over from the pasta Yeri has brought her two days ago; a plateful of pesto that tastes the same way Irene makes it. But Seulgi is too tired to think anything of it, dried out of all the hope she used to carry with her.

She fishes it out of the fridge and puts it in their— _her_ microwave, sets it to three minutes because she likes it scalding.

It begins spinning, its telltale sound deafening in such an empty kitchen. It even wins over the continuous buzz Seulgi’s phone makes as it rings incessantly on top of the tiled island counter.

Though, the device still manages to catch Seulgi’s attention. She picks it up, not bothering to check who the caller is; swipes left to end the call before firing a quick text to Yeri to say, _thanks again for the pasta_.

Fires another before she loses the burst of courage she doesn’t really know where she has drawn from. _Please make sure your unnie doesn’t skip any meals, okay?_

She leaves her phone at the farthest side of the island counter after that, on silent and face-down just so she won’t hear any more of its buzz for the rest of the night.

.

The dish is cooling down when she lays two plates opposite each other on the dining table, and then two forks on each plate’s side. There are two empty glasses on top of purple coasters, but the spoon is only set on one side, because Seulgi _remembered_ , and then forgets about dinner entirely.

She isn’t really feeling pasta tonight anyway.

.

In the end, she settles herself on the couch, long legs dangling at an arm’s edge. Her makeshift bed is a small fit, so Seulgi is forced to fold her legs by the knees and turn to her side, just so she can fit in this couch made for two.

Seulgi then flicks off the lamp that’s above her head, her lone source of light. The entire living room is plunged into complete darkness, and Seulgi can’t help but think how it’s such apropos to how her life is now. 

Irene is her very own light, and now that she’s gone, Seulgi will forever be blind.

...

  
  


She wakes at the sound of keys jangling outside her door, and her heart slams in her chest when the knob shakes, her breath catching in her throat as it turns the same way it does whenever Irene puts her key in.

The door cracks open, the light from the hallway seeping in through the gap. Seulgi still squints at the dim light that hits her eyes, and raises a hand to cover her face as the ample space widens and more light comes in. 

She hears the squeak of shoes, followed by the brush heavy feet make against their doormat. But Seulgi can tell the patter of Irene’s feet from anywhere, and this is when her heart falls and the air she’s suppressing in her lungs rushes out because whoever it is standing by her doorway isn’t Irene.

“God, it’s so dark in here,” Seulgi hears the newcomer say; hardly voices out a protest when the flick of the switch echoes next and the living room is suddenly flooded with so much light.

“I was sleeping,” rasps her, voice slightly muffled by the pillow she buries her face into.

“ _Unnie_ , it’s seven pm,” Joy bluntly states. “Have you even had dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.” Seulgi burrows into her makeshift bed even deeper, silently cursing herself for forgetting that they actually left a set of spare keys with Irene’s sister, Yeri, and by extension, her girlfriend, Joy. “Also, if I remember correctly, the keys are strictly for emergencies only.”

Joy _tsks_ , and then flicks the hems of her denim jacket behind her before plopping down the empty couch seat that’s nearest to Seulgi’s feet. “I thought it was an emergency, okay? You weren’t answering your phone.”

“I wasn’t because I’m fine, Sooyoung,” Seulgi replies dismissively. “As I have been telling you for the last ten days. You don’t have to worry.”

“Yeah,” Joy drawls, and then bites at her bottom lip; hard. It’s the only thing she can really do as she watches the other woman curl in on herself, clutching the pillow pressed against her chest impossibly closer. “Forgive me if I’m finding it quite hard to believe right now.”

“I’m not forcing you to.”

She clucks her tongue, pinches Seulgi’s big toe that the latter only shakes off. “Come on. Tell me what you want to eat.”

“Joy,” Seulgi sighs. She sounds terribly exhausted to Joy’s ears. But then again, who wouldn’t be with what she has been going through. “I’m not hungry. I’d rather just sleep.”

She’s met with silence. She would think that the other woman has left on her request, but she never really did hear her door creak, and Seulgi’s simply feeling too unbothered to check. So she says, “Right now, all I want is to be alone.”

“But Seulgi-unnie—”

“Please, Sooyoung,” Seulgi pleads. And just like that, the conversation is over. “Just leave me alone.” 

...

  
  


Joy trudges inside their apartment with a weight she can feel on her shoulders. While tied to her feet are anchors, the grips of _that_ feeling of helplessness sitting heavily on her chest. 

It echoes on the floors like the clack of her boots, seeps from a vein and goes up to her throat, lacing itself on her tone as she tells Yeri, “She wouldn’t let me stay.”

Yeri nods, understanding filling her features. She takes Joy’s hand and squeezes it. “It’s okay.” But there’s a worried look that dwells in her eyes as she turns to stare at the tightly shut door on their bedroom’s left.

She can’t quite understand how their lives ended up like this. It’s been Joohyun-unnie _and_ Seulgi-unnie for as long as she’s known, and now it’s suddenly _not_ , and Yeri is struggling to deal with that. 

The urge to cry creeps up like a thief in the night—sadness and frustration has never really been a good mix—and she has to press both sets of her fingers on both her eyes to stave off the tears. 

Because _they're_ meant to be; Seulgi’s recent text sitting on her messages makes it clear, while the ultimate proof that her sister is the dumbest, most stubborn person on Earth is on Joy’s inbox.

“ _Unnie_ has—” Yeri starts to say. But her voice cracks halfway through, her throat hurting as she swallows. “ _Unnie_ hasn’t come out of her room since she came back. I’ve knocked, I’ve called her name so many times. I’ve even tried calling her phone but it just goes to voicemail.”

Joy is the one who nods in understanding this time, knows that Yeri did everything she could to try and take care of her older sister. But, perhaps, it’s out of their hands. 

“I think, right now,” she says as her free hand tucks Yeri’s hair behind her ear. “All we can do is wait.”

…

  
  


**_Joohyun-unnie [5:48 PM]_ **

_Sooyoung-ah, I have a favor to ask_ _  
_ _And you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone_ _  
_ _Even Yerim_

**_Me [5:48 PM]_ **

_You know I can’t keep anything from her, unnie_ _  
_ _I can only try_ _  
_ _But, what is it?_

**_Joohyun-unnie [5:50 PM]_ **

_Can you check on Seulgi later?_ _  
_ _Make sure she eats something for dinner?_

**_Me [5:50 PM]_ **

_Of course, Irene-unnie_ _  
_ _I can do that!_

**_Joohyun-unnie [5:51 PM]_ **

_Thank you, Sooyoung_ _  
_ _Just, please, keep this between us_

...

  
  


It takes about five minutes of waiting—three of which she spends trying to make sense of the sounds and the pictures flashing on their tv screen—before Yeri gives up on the pretense of caring for whatever trivial thing the young lead actor is bawling over about.

“I can’t take this,” she huffs, throwing the pillow she’s holding close away. She marches towards the closed room and bangs her fist against the door, with Joy—who lets out a sigh, because, _well_ , so much for waiting—hot on her heels. “Joohyun-unnie, come on! Talk to me!”

She’s slapping a palm against the wood now, while her other hand continuously tries to shake the locked door knob open. 

But her palm only turns red, the other sweaty, and it itches and it stings, and yet, there’s _nothing_.

“Yah, Yerim,” Joy gently chides, clucking her tongue as she snatches Yeri’s hand off the door and rubs the redness underneath away. “You won’t get her to talk to you if you keep yelling like this.”

“But she’s been there for hours!”

“I know,” she affirms. “And I know you know how Irene-unnie gets sometimes.”

“I just—” Yeri looks away, wiping a stubborn tear that escapes from the corner of her eye. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words are stuck behind her throat, held by her _need_ to hear that her sister is going to be fine. 

She ends up explaining _nothing_ to Joy at all; only pulls her hand back from Joy’s hold to once more slam it against the wooden door. “ _Unnie_! At least let me know you’re still breathing in there, yeah?”

“I’m fine, Yerim,” Irene finally, _finally_ answers. Yeri feels like she can breathe again, though the muffled, stuffy voice still chips at Yeri’s heart. “I just need a moment, okay?”

It’s not really what Yeri is hoping to hear, but she’d rather have that than nothing at all. And now that her sister is finally responding, Yeri can’t seem to stop. “Do you want me to make you tea, _unnie_? Or get you a bottle of water?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Okay.” She sighs out at the obvious dismissal. It takes another breath, and her fingers curling around the door frame she’s propped on for her to continue, “But whatever you need, _unnie_ , I’m here, okay?”

Yeri doesn’t wait around for an answer she knows she isn’t going to get. She forces her feet to move, stomping inside the room she shares with Joy and heading straight towards their tiny balcony.

Joy follows her there too, because being Bae Joohyun’s sister means she’s bound to pick up a trait or two, and Yeri seems to have inherited Irene’s stubbornness. One that tends to surface when things don’t go her way.

She’s proven right when she sees the smaller woman digging her phone out of the pocket of her denim shorts, determined thumbs tapping away on the screen. The frown on her forehead creases with purpose, and all Joy can do is ask. “Who are you texting?”

Yeri fires about fifteen hundred messages before answering. “Backup.” 

“Wha—who?”

But Yeri doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even take her eyes off the phone screen, even when it finally lights up and she feels it vibrate in her hand.

Joy can only sigh at this. 

(Because when Yeri’s on a mission, she can hardly be stopped. And Joy has long figured out—after three years and counting—that it’s best to just let Yeri get it out of her system.

Or there’d be consequences. Some of them Joy really, _really_ likes; most of them Joy absolutely hates.)

Yeri sends a quick reply to whoever she’s been corresponding with before tucking her phone back inside her pocket.

Then, she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath that fills her lungs. She hasn’t really given herself the chance to just pause and take in what has happened—given room to think about what it means for all of them—the moment Irene walked absentmindedly inside their apartment and straight to her room.

She feels a soft nudge, Joy’s fingers wrapping around her elbow. Though she only opens her eyes when she hears Joy ask, “So, who’s coming?”

Still, she remains silent. Yeri only studies Joy’s face, tracing the genuine worry that has settled in since they first heard Irene’s lock _click_. 

Joy hasn’t left her side at all. Throughout the day, she has been the solid presence Yeri needed as she tried to comfort her sister, a supportive voice who tried to coax Irene out to talk to them when there was no response.

Yeri feels her own heart swell three folds, and ache at the next thought that passes her mind; of Joy no longer being at her side, just like how Seulgi is no longer a constant presence next to Irene.

It’s what lifts herself up on her toes, kissing Joy so hard it completely derails the taller woman’s thoughts.

And when she breaks away, she leaves Joy completely dazed. Though, the other woman still manages to ask, “Yeri?”

“You better not break up with me Park Sooyoung,” Yeri only warns her in response before cupping a hand at the back of Joy’s neck, pulling her down and kissing her again. 

Joy, in turn, wraps her arms around Yeri’s slender waist, feeling like she’d honest to goodness float away if she doesn’t anchor herself on Yeri’s side.

And she really doesn’t know how she’s managed to speak, much less form a coherent sentence with Yeri catching her bottom lip in between her teeth. “Wh—what?”

“I said don’t you dare break up with me. Or I swear to God, I’m going to fill your new place with mirrors.”

...

  
  


_Backup_ actually means Wendy, who takes almost half an hour to get to the apartment, and a few waddling steps to reach Irene’s door. 

Eunji has driven her wife to Joy and Yeri’s place, and judging by the dress shirt and dress pants, Yeri has an inkling that the taller woman has probably just gotten home from work. 

(And she _knows_ she should feel guilty about that, intruding on someone else’s time for a favor that she draws the last minute. But Wendy is the only person who isn’t Seulgi that could get through to her sister, and Yeri is running out of options.)

She has explained it all in a single text message—or at least she tried to—brief and really just a halting strings of words, yet Wendy’s able to pick up on the unspoken worry underlying it.

Yeri then drags Joy towards their couch, plopping next to Eunji. Together, the three of them watch Wendy stand quietly in front of Irene’s door, her face pulling into one of Eunji’s absolute favorites. 

(She calls it _the pensive_ , a rare sight she treasures because her wife is smiles and laughs and giggles most of the time.)

“You heard from Seulgi-unnie yet, _unnie_?” Joy asks her, breaking her reverie.

“No,” answers Eunji. Though, her gaze is still fixed on her heavily pregnant wife, studiously looking out for the littlest sign of discomfort. “The last time we saw each other, I was hauling her drunk ass home.”

It’s Yeri who asks this time. “That day she got the papers?”

Eunji nods, and it’s stiff, with a dark look settling in on her face that scares both Joy and Yeri admittedly. “She didn’t even call anyone. The bartender had to call Wendy to come get her because she was the last person Seulgi missed a call from. And then she asked me to come get her.”

“God,” Yeri breathes out. She feels her strength suddenly be drained from her bones, and she finds herself dropping her weight against Joy. 

They fall into silence, as if taking _that_ scene in, so much so that they can even hear Wendy’s soft voice as she starts asking Irene to open the door.

Then, Yeri whispers. “I didn’t even see Joohyun-unnie that day. Or the next two.”

It was a messy three days— _no_ , it was a messy three months. (As far as) Yeri knows Seulgi and her sister had hit a very rocky patch for the first two. But it still came as an unwanted surprise when her sister knocked on their door barely a week after the third month started, with her suitcase in tow and a stoic look on her face, asking if she can stay on their spare room for a little while.

Yeri will never forget the blank look on her sister’s eyes, like someone took her very soul away, and what’s left is a hollowed chest with a barely beating heart.

A week after that, the papers were served. Irene’s presence in their apartment started becoming scarce. By the time Yeri woke up, her sister had been long gone, and she still wasn’t back when it was time to sleep. She wasn’t even sure if Irene had come home at all.

And now, here they are.

(Yet, the worst part is, no one really knows the story. Irene has opted to keep it all to herself, and Seulgi seems to be doing the same; unanswered phone calls and seen messages, all under the guise of giving Irene a wide berth to move freely.

Yeri swears she’s heard this same old story in every break up song that ever existed.)

Eunji shifts on her seat, leaning on her toes the moment she sees Wendy wince and rub a soothing hand on her back. But her wife doesn’t call for her, so she sinks back, both onto the seat and into their conversation.

“I’ve never really seen Seulgi that drunk,” she continues, shaking her head. “In a stupor. I was practically carrying her to my car. And when we got to her place, I asked her if she wanted me to stay the night. She could barely even shake her head.”

“And?” Joy gently prods.

“She told me to just—to just please give her home back. And I—” There’s a pause that Eunji takes as the memory surfaces, feeling her own heart twinge for a second time. “I honestly didn’t know what to tell her.”

Yeri burrows deeper into Joy’s side upon hearing the words, seeking the kind of comfort only Joy can give. And Joy has to press her lips on the top of Yeri’s hair, to curb the urge to cry that forms itself on her throat.

.

(It’s a separation that leaves them in ripples; a slab of rock thrown in their calm waters, and it hasn’t stopped rippling ever since.)

.

The three of them grow quiet, save for their deep, heavy breaths and Wendy’s soft voice coming from the short distance.

Eunji is the first one to startle upon hearing Wendy’s voice rise. Yeri pulls back a little to look, while Joy whips her head in surprise because Wendy never ever does that.

But the door stays closed and Wendy feels her patience run thin. “Yah, Irene-unnie! Are you really going to make me stand on my swollen ankles all night?!”

It works like magic, and Yeri can only sigh in relief.

...

  
  


The room is dark, so unlike Irene who loves sunshine and everything bright. 

The well-lit laptop screen is the only source of light. So Wendy is forced to cautiously feel her way through as she follows Irene, ambling close to the older woman’s heels.

Irene merely slides back in on the bed, in the exact same spot where she has been nestled at for a while now. She doesn’t spare Wendy a glance, but Wendy’s close enough to see how red-rimmed Irene’s eyes really are.

(She’s only witnessed it four times in the entire span of their friendship, two of those being fights with Seulgi—on the verge of breaking up until one of them comes back crawling into the other’s arms and everything falls back into place.

This is the fifth. But what scares Wendy is how it’s starting to look like no one is crawling back and there are no arms to return to this time.)

Irene pulls her knees close to her chest and rests her chin on the crevice where they meet. She winds both her arms around her legs, letting her hands grasp on each elbow. And as her eyes fall on the laptop’s screen once more, her fingers sink on her skin, deep enough to leave marks. 

Wendy follows Irene’s gaze, and she has to suppress a sigh when she finds a video playing in fullscreen at the end of it. She doesn’t really know how many exactly Irene has gone through, but from what Yeri has caught her up to, she can only assume _a lot_ , after camping in this room for the remainder of the day.

The footage is a bit shaky, but they can see the camera focusing in on Seulgi’s back as she walked outside of what looked like a car dealer store.

And this is where Wendy’s heart starts to break, hearing a constrained sound escape Irene’s throat; one that she quickly muffles with small hands as Seulgi’s curious yet mellow voice wafts from the laptop’s speakers. 

_“Baby, is this really the car we’re going to test drive?”_

“ _Yes_ ,” they hear Irene’s voice say from behind the lens. The view pans to the car itself, and both Wendy and Irene see the sleek blue car the latter and Seulgi used to drive. “ _I was talking to Yongsun a few days ago and she said this is a good car. It’s crash proof and completely safe. Not to mention, it looks nice right?_ ”

The focus is brought back to Seulgi, and it shows how her eyes grew confused given the camera’s proximity. “ _Yeah, but, Yongsun-unnie told you to get a BMW?_ ”

The view shakes. Irene remembers throwing Seulgi a dismissive shrug; remembers even more than _that_ —every second of the ten-minute video, and how happy she made Seulgi that day.

The camera goes around the car as Irene walked to the passenger side. She slid inside the leather seat, never losing focus even when she had to clip the seat belt on with just one hand.

All the while, the view shows Seulgi sliding in into the driver’s seat, and then marveling at the black elegant dashboard the car was equipped with.

She even ran her hands along the steering wheel in awe. “ _This is a really nice car, Hyun._ ”

“ _I know, right?_ ” Irene’s voice replied. And even though Wendy and Irene can’t see _her_ on the screen, they can both picture her satisfied grin. “ _Let’s give it a go?_ ”

Seulgi nodded eagerly. She bent to start the engine, fingers grasping at the key when she finally realized something. “ _Wait, why are you filming me?_ ”

“ _It’s so if we crash a car we haven’t paid for yet, I have proof that it was you on the driver’s seat._ ”

Seulgi made a show of heaving a deep breath, exhaling out loud as she tilted her head and threw Irene an unamused glare. “ _Sometimes I wonder what’s it like to have a supportive wife._ ” 

She laughed at the playful shove she got from Irene, the smaller woman’s pale hand darting from somewhere behind and straight to the screen.

“ _Yah!_ ” A still unseen Irene yelled. But she melted just as quick when Seulgi caught her hand and pressed a lingering kiss at the back of it.

“ _I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You’re the best. I couldn’t really ask for more._ ”

Wendy feels more than sees the way Irene shifts on the bed. She only hears the rustle of fabric against sheets, but she catches the way Irene tips her head back and forces her eyes to look anywhere else.

Irene’s vision blurs, but she’s quick to blink back the tears. She has managed not to cry _again_ for the last five videos, and she refuses to start now.

Even though the soft smile adorning Seulgi’s face is a pain that she will never shake.

When she brings her head back down and looks at the screen once more, she has already steeled herself, reigning over the momentary loss of control in that particular way Wendy has always admired.

The video continues to roll. Seulgi had already pulled out of the dealer’s parking lot and was taking the route designated for the test drive. Irene watches herself—or at least her hands—fiddle with the various knobs and buttons that embellished the dashboard, while Seulgi only chuckled and laughed at every sound of discovery that Irene made.

They pulled into the one-way lane that was apt for trying out the automatic shifting gears. It was a long, wide, empty road, with hardly any other cars passing by. Seulgi’s eyes sparkled with excitement as the rev of the car’s engine echoed in the sunny afternoon.

The vision of trees and lamp posts they were passing by speeds up, signaling Seulgi’s shift on the car’s own speed. Though, it slows not long after, right when Irene asked, “ _What do you think of the car?_ ”

“ _I feel like James Bond,_ ” Seulgi answered truthfully. She threw Irene a fleeting yet elated glance, her eyes fixed back on the road right away. 

“ _James Bond?_ ” The Irene from the footage laughed; the Irene who’s watching does too, albeit softly.

“ _Yeah. You know, very… wait what does Yeri call it?_ ” Seulgi paused, struggling to remember. “ _I got it! Posh!_ ”

“ _Baby,_ ” Irene hears her own voice coo. She feels a tug on her heartstrings, sharp enough that she knows the ache will linger for the rest of the night. “ _You really have to stop hanging out with my sister._ ”

“ _Whatever you say dear_ ,” the taller woman quipped, in the same fake British accent that Yeri has a habit of doing.

“ _Oh my God, stop!_ ”

Seulgi just laughed, and Irene has to close her eyes when the sound graces her ears. She hardly remembers the time when it didn’t hurt to hear it, hear what used to be her favorite sound, next to Seulgi’s heartbeat.

“ _But did you like it?_ ”

“ _I did. It’s nice, and you said it’s safe. It’s pretty easy to drive too._ ”

“ _Yeah? You really liked it?_ ”

Seulgi nodded earnestly; the grin on her face was its proof.

Irene’s voice hummed, and then said, “ _That’s good to know_ .” She still couldn’t be seen but it’s easy to picture her nodding. “ _Because it’s ours_.”

The screech of tires followed her words, blasting through the speakers without any warning. Irene jumps and covers her ears, while Wendy’s face only pulls into a tight grimace as she waits for it to fade.

It’s next replaced by Seulgi’s high pitched voice, brimming with disbelief. “ _What do you mean it’s ours?!_ ”

“ _Baby, we’re in the middle of the road!_ ”

“ _Oh, sorry_ ,” Seulgi mumbled. It snapped her back to attention and had her steering the car to the left, parking it on a spot where it didn’t block any car that would pass by. Then, she pressed the hazard button before facing Irene again. “ _What do you mean it’s ours?!_ ”

“ _It means literally what it means._ ”

“ _Joohyun!_ ”

Irene’s answering giggle was light. (Oh how she misses the feeling.) “ _We own it. We’re taking it home_.”

“ _But—wh—how?_ ” The view pans closer, the lens almost struggling to catch Seulgi’s incessant blinks. But it was there, and she looked just like the same person Irene has always been in love with, with her button nose, and her chapped lips gaping, her ears sticking out from underneath her hair.

“ _It just is._ ” 

There was a quick click and a brief rustling before the camera is tilted sideways. It looks like it had been chucked somewhere in the center console, but, really, it was just Irene shuffling on her seat. Then, _there_ , on Seulgi’s side of the screen, she finally appeared, leaning up to press the softest kiss at the space beneath Seulgi’s mouth where her dimple is. “ _Happy Anniversary, Mrs Bae-Kang_.”

.

The footage has a minute or two left, but Irene knows what happens in those moments: a slew of I love yous and countless kisses that her heart isn’t prepared to see. So she hits escape, closing the video, and stares blankly at the wallpaper that her screen switches back to.

It’s a picture of Seulgi and her from their vacation in Pattaya. (Irene can’t really bring herself to change it yet.)

It’s in Wendy’s direct line of sight, but she pretends that it’s some mere abstract she doesn’t have enough knowledge to comment on. Instead, she tells Irene, “I remember that day you brought the car home. She called me and squealed on the phone for ten minutes straight. She was talking so fast, I didn’t understand a thing.”

She sounds nostalgic—so is her smile—like it’s a far-away memory as old as her childhood’s, and not something that was from just a few years ago.

(Maybe because she hasn’t really seen Seulgi do that in quite a while now; hasn’t heard her laugh a full blown laugh that has Wendy in stitches too, until there are tears in their eyes and their stomachs ache.)

“Yeah. She couldn’t even sleep,” Irene recalls, with a lopsided smile ensuing from the memory. Of Seulgi in a gray hoodie, dancing to her heart’s content in their kitchen while she could only watch, perpetually amused by her silly moves and ridiculously adorable faces.

(And then it was time to prepare dinner. But Seulgi stuck to her like glue, refusing to let even an inch of distance get in between them. So Irene had to move around with Seulgi clinging onto her waist, her smaller bare feet on top of Seulgi’s bigger ones, and Seulgi’s cheek pressed against hers.)

“She pulled me out of bed at four am, you know? And told me we had to go somewhere.”

Irene begins tracing a finger on the random patterns decorating her sheets; rolls the cloth in between her thumb and index finger just so she won’t have to meet Wendy’s gaze. “She drove us all the way to Daegu, just because I mentioned missing my mom’s cooking. _Once_.” There’s a laugh, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too in love, and a little too broken. “Gosh, she’s so stupid.”

Irene turns her head again, away from Wendy’s concerned gaze. She lifts her other hand, pressing a finger underneath her eye, but Wendy doesn’t miss the pooled tears trickling down from the corner.

Wendy swallows thickly. She’s admittedly afraid to ask, but she figures Irene has to talk about it at some point. And she knows that among all of them, she’s really the only one who has the guts—always have been. “ _Unnie_ , what happened between you and Seulgi?”

Irene tries really hard to not let anything on her face show, but it’s pain that hearing Seulgi’s name brings, piercing and searing at the same time that she suddenly feels being pulled in a hundred different directions all at once.

She’s quiet for a long second—fifteen pounding heartbeats that Wendy counts in her head—as if she’s gathering her thoughts and plotting them on a map that only she can see.

Then, Irene finally whispers. “Seungwan.” 

Wendy finds herself swallowing a second time, pushing back a piece of her heart that the sound of her mere name has chipped away. It’s in the way Irene’s voice cracks, forcing the name out in the thick of a choked whimper. 

“I broke her heart.”

She fights back the tears just because Irene is, too. “ _Unnie_ —”

“I saw it. I saw it on her face. How could I do that to her?” Irene folds in on herself, hiding behind her bent knees. Her hair becomes a curtain that shields the anguish marring her features, but Wendy can _hear_ it distinctly.

She wants to say _it’s gonna be okay_ , yet, she knows there’s really no way of telling if they ever will be. It would feel like a lie that will burn her tongue, a faux sympathy from someone who can’t fathom what it really feels like.

(Eunji had told her before—that time they broke up once and vowed to never do again; sealed it with an engagement and a kiss—that losing her felt like losing her big toes; the one thing that kept her balanced and hinged, anchored to the ground so that the gruesome reality of her job wouldn’t consume her.)

“I was so happy. God, she made me so happy. The happiest. But she looked like she wasn’t going to change her mind and I wasn’t going to change mine.” Irene wheezes, her shoulders shaking from the jagged breaths she takes. And it feels like at any moment, her chest is going to cave in from all the weight. “It wasn’t going to go anywhere, and we would just end up resenting each other. I don’t want that. I’d never want that.”

Despite the difficulty, Wendy shuffles on the bed, scooting closer towards Irene until they’re right next to each other. She stretches a hand out, hoping that the warmth of her palm will somehow soothe the other woman.

She can’t even imagine what it’s like, to tear off half of what has become as your own self for the sake of not losing each other completely.

“But I wanted this, didn’t I? I asked for this.”

“Oh _unnie_ ,” Wendy bleats, her own eyes shimmering with tears. She lets gentle fingers weave through Irene’s defenses to cup her face, slowly lifting Irene’s head up, and lets the pads of her thumbs brush the tears away. “It wasn’t just hers. You broke yours too.”

...

  
  


_Seulgi bent down, eyeing the tray of food she left inside the oven over thirty minutes ago. It was some type of fancy meat that she couldn’t remember the name of, her wife’s favorite from that restaurant they love having dinner at on date nights._

_It wasn’t date night—and if Seulgi thought about it, she couldn’t really remember the last time they had one—but the past two months had been arduous, the past few weeks uneasy, and Seulgi really wanted nothing but to rectify that._

_She straightened up, proceeded to check the carrot cake resting on their fridge and the wine cooling on the chiller a third time. She wasn’t the type to splurge extra wons on gourmet meals, but Seulgi hardly saw even her wife’s shadow these days—though she knew she was partly to be blamed for that—so she wanted tonight to be just about the two of them._

_They had been so utterly out of sync lately. Seulgi didn’t even have the faintest idea if Irene was still running the ER or if she had been relegated to something else. And she’d bet a month’s worth of spicy ramen that Irene didn’t know what was going on in the studio anymore either._

_They were reduced to hastened his and byes, I love yous thrown over her shoulder on rare mornings when Irene also happened to be up, never knowing if the sentiment was ever returned because Seulgi had long dashed out of the house before Irene even got the chance to say it back._

_And Seulgi missed that, terribly so. She missed lying on the bed right next to where her wife was, missed falling asleep in her eyes and to the sound of her even breaths, with her warmth tucked on Seulgi’s side. Missed not falling asleep at all, and instead spending the rest of the night talking about anything and everything, and what was it that they wanted to do next._

_(She couldn’t wait to ask Irene that, even though she already knew the answer.)_

_She missed her so bad that she was determined to make up for it. For putting the rookie girl group she had been making choreographs for first, over her wife’s needs eighty percent of the time. For bailing out on a lot of weekend plans, falling asleep even before Irene got home, waking up at the crack of dawn to make it to their rehearsal call time in time._

_For sweeping the one thing Irene wanted to talk about with her under the rug, promising that they’d get to it when she returned home, but never really doing so._

_But now, Seulgi was ready. She was finally ready to have that talk, ready to make plans with her wife and slowly stop putting the life they shared together on hold._

_Her rookie girl group was debuting in a few days, the food was warming up nicely, and Irene was coming home in fifteen minutes._

_For once, Seulgi couldn’t wait to start that conversation._

_._

_Her heart jumped at the jangle of keys, the beats racing as she watched the knob twist and the door crack open. Seulgi didn’t really know why she was feeling nervous, and the sight of her wife trudging inside the foyer did nothing but send her heart into a frenzy._

_She looked tired, and there were bags under her eyes. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, with a few locks escaping the hold and falling on the creased fabric that covered her shoulders. But she still was the most beautiful woman Seulgi had ever seen, and that was never going to change._

_“Hey,” Seulgi called out softly, knowing how Irene was easily startled. She nervously slipped her hands at the back pocket of her denim shorts at Irene’s timid reply._

_“Hi.”_

_“I uhm,” she bit her lip, inwardly berating herself for being at a loss for words. This was her wife—and, God, when did it start feeling like she had to scale a huge wall just to make small talk with her? “I made dinner! Well not me, me, but, I bought your favorite meal from Ristorante Siciliano. It’s… ah.” She jerked a thumb, pointing behind her shoulder to where their kitchen was. “It’s in the kitchen.”_

_“Oh.” Irene pulled back, looking genuinely surprised. “Thanks, I guess.”_

_“Do you want to have dinner now? Or do you want to change first? I already set the table.”_

_“I—”_

_“Oh,” Seulgi cut her off, as if suddenly remembering something. “I haven’t even properly said hello.”_

_She crossed the distance in three strides, and then pulled her wife into a hug. Her arms encircled around her tightly, her nose burying itself in the crook of Irene’s neck. She revelled in the warmth that Irene exuded, and her unique scent that pervaded her senses._

_Irene responded to her in kind, returning the embrace. Granted it wasn’t as tight as Seulgi wanted it to be, but she could feel Irene’s hands running along her back, and really, it was the only thing that mattered._

_Seulgi disentangled herself after planting a quick kiss on the spot that never failed to make Irene’s breath hitch. But it was only to right herself up. Her hands stayed where they were, her fingers laced on the small of Irene’s back._

_Her eyes disappeared behind the mischief that shined in them. Irene’s brow arched at that, though it was a miniscule movement that Seulgi almost didn't catch._

_She wondered what Seulgi was thinking now; got her answer from the kiss her wife stole a second later, Seulgi’s teeth nipping at her bottom lip teasingly._

_Seulgi repeated the action two more times, each kiss getting sweeter and longer because she noticed how Irene’s eyes seemed to lack their usual sparkle. She chalked it off to her wife simply being tired, the thought almost forgotten when Irene’s hands slid from her shoulder blades and up to her neck._

_Still, she was determined to bring the glimmer back, starting with what she had planned for them for this night._

_At the fourth time, Seulgi felt a gentle pressure at the back of her neck. Irene’s fingers curled to keep her in place, while the smaller woman leaned up on her toes and fused their lips together in an almost bruising kiss._

_Irene’s other hand traveled down, continuing on her journey. It glided from Seulgi’s collar to the topmost button of her plaid shirt, popped it off as well as the next._

_But Seulgi broke the kiss when she felt Irene working on the third, then chuckled lowly. “I’m all for where this is headed, but the food’s probably getting cold, babe.”_

_She nuzzled her wife’s nose, smiling at the warm breath that hit her lips as Irene heaved a sigh._

_“I… actually had a Sub before I left the hospital,” Irene answered hesitantly. “My last surgery took longer than planned and I felt too tired to cook.”_

_“Ah.” Seulgi forced out a smile. Sure it threw a small wrench in her plans, yet she refused to let the rest of their night go to waste. “But not dessert, right? ‘Coz I got us carrot cake.” She shot her wife a hopeful look, her inviting smile genuine this time. “And I was thinking we could talk over wine?”_

_It was probably a testament on how long Seulgi had been putting the conversation off, when Irene’s initial reaction was to scoff. “And what, you’d try to convince me that we can wait for another year?”_

_“What? No!” Seulgi strongly refuted. “I just—I mean I’m not sure how long the whole process takes but, maybe we can start planning?”_

_“Planning,” the smaller woman repeated. But her voice was flat, and she looked dubious, like she didn't trust Seulgi to say the right things._

_(It had been the exact same conversation after all, just spread in different months and different moments, all with the same ending.)_

_“Yeah,” Seulgi affirmed. “Like, maybe I can start reading about the procedures. You—you said there was going to be a lot of reading, right?”_

_She tried to pass off a smile, but Irene’s expression remained inscrutable. Seulgi had no idea what she was thinking, which she absolutely loathed. How could she not? When she used to be able to read every single thing that was going on in her wife’s mind._

_“Hyun? Say something?”_

_Irene’s jaw clenched tight as she wordlessly folded her arms over her chest. She only stared at Seulgi, who started nervously rocking on the balls of her feet. The dull thud of her shoes was the only sound in the silence, until finally, Irene spoke. “Let’s say we can skip that. What are we going to do next?”_

_Her gaze was sharp, piercing, and it stung Seulgi in ways that it hadn’t before. This wasn’t the first time Seulgi had been on the receiving end of Irene’s glares, but for some reason, it felt different that night. It was heavier, it was barbed, and it accused Seulgi of a crime she couldn’t remember committing._

_“I…” Seulgi dipped her head down. She raised her left hand and fiddled with her ring, feeling like a berated child under her wife’s withering look._

_Her lack of response made Irene bristle. Because she was right. It was going to be the same conversation again, and she was just so, so tired. “What if I told you that I want to start the shots tomorrow?” Irene fired again, armed with all the frustration that had been stewing in her gut. “What if I told you that two or three weeks from now, we can already be pregnant?”_

_Seulgi’s head snapped up, looking at Irene in shock. She felt entirely overwhelmed, because what she had in mind was to just really make a plan, with the actual thing taking place at least two months from now._

_Irene watched her gape, and she had to resist the urge to just walk away and leave Seulgi alone._

_“Th-that soon?” The taller woman stuttered. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing up at the motion. Then, “Are we—are we ready?”_

_“I am,” Irene answered, rather confidently. And she was. She had been ready for longer than her own wife thought. “I’ve been ready for two years. But are you?”_

_Seulgi held her breath, thinking. It was truly an inopportune time, what with her contract to the rookie girl group spanning up to eight months. She was already on her fifth, but even then, if Irene would suddenly become pregnant in the middle of it all, Seulgi wasn’t sure she’d be the best version of herself. She’d stick around, of course; Irene would never have to worry about that. But she might not be around on the times Irene would need her most, might be too tired to even ask about her and their future baby’s day, might feel the ache of exhaustion too deep in her bones that she’d hardly be able to move and wholly be unable to cater to her wife’s every whim._

_These were the same worries that Seulgi had been trying to make her wife understand ever since the subject was first brought up. But her words never came out right, and Irene had somehow made up her mind, thinking that Seulgi didn’t—and never would—want an addition to their family._

_But Seulgi did. She did want it. She just wasn’t completely ready, at least not yet. Still, Seulgi trusted herself that she was going to be, once she found the healthy balance between her blooming career and the prospective of her family growing._

_Yet, in the end, she couldn’t lie to her wife. She couldn’t say yes when she knew that she just needed some more time. So she told Irene this. “I’m getting there, baby. I just… with the girls debuting in a few days and my contract still in effect—”_

_A derisive laugh bubbled out of Irene’s throat, and her hands threw up in surrender. She knew it. She damn knew it. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Seulgi.”_

_She turned around and started to walk back to their room, determined to just sleep it off and forget this night. Maybe even drink that wine straight from the bottle._

_But Seulgi was quick on her feet, and her strides were longer than Irene’s so she was able to catch up to her swiftly. She held her by the wrist, gently turning her around to face her._

_“Joohyun,” Seulgi started to say. “Come on. I don’t want to fight, okay?” She wrapped Irene in a hug, unable to stand the tears that were pooling in her wife’s eyes. Her face was crumpled, too, and it was a sight Seulgi couldn’t bear seeing. She cradled her head, planting the softest kisses all over Irene’s hair. And when Irene weakly pulled back as a sign of her resistance, Seulgi didn’t let her go._

_“I’m tired, Seulgi. I’m so tired of trying to talk to you about it.”_

_“I know,” Seulgi whispered. She felt her own throat close up, with the way Irene kept on shaking her head and struggling away from Seulgi’s hold, which only tightened every time Irene tried to move. “I know. But I need more time, Hyun. All I’m asking for is some more time—”_

_Irene shook her head again, firmer this time. And her hands that pried the arms encircled around her were uncaring and rough. She backed one step away from Seulgi, holding a hand up so she wouldn’t follow. “I’ve given you that!” She snapped, her tone biting. “I’ve given you a lot of that.”_

_“Joohyun.” Seulgi looked pleadingly at her wife who kept on adding more distance in between them. It felt like they were oceans apart, with Irene drifting further away, and Seulgi hated it. “Please try to understand.”_

_“That’s all I ever do, Seulgi!” Irene spat out; the pain from having to put the only thing she ever wanted second to Seulgi’s wishes for so long pouring out of her all at once. “When you were starting out, when you had to cover four other classes every day because Sunmi just up and left.” She felt her eyes prickle, and for once, she didn’t bother blinking them away._ “ _When you went to Japan for two months for a coaching stint that I only found out about barely two weeks before your scheduled flight.”_

_It was like a lid had been blown off, and what Seulgi was witnessing now was the overflow: bottled-up emotions that Irene had kept to herself for far too long._

_“And I did it—I do it because I love you,” Irene continued, her voice quivering. Seulgi tried not to think anything of it when those three words came out almost breathless. “Because I meant what I said in my vows. I meant it when I promised to do everything to make you happy.”_

_Seulgi swallowed to push back the tight knot that had surged up in her throat. Yet, she couldn’t fight the tears from streaming down her face. She wiped some of it away with her trembling hands, shaking with a desperate need to hold her wife again._

_“You promised me that, too, remember? And yet,” the smaller woman paused and opened her arms, gesturing helplessly at everything around them, “here we are.”_

_“Joohyun,” Seulgi whimpered; her wife’s name a broken noise that rumbled from deep within her chest. “Joohyun, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”_

_“I know you are,” Irene answered with a lopsided smile. “I knew you would be. Because that’s you. That’s one of the things I loved most about you.”_

_Seulgi couldn’t bring herself to ask what she meant by “loved”, too afraid to know what the answer was. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel it coming. And now she couldn’t stop wondering where exactly their night had gone wrong._

_She hoped she was wrong; hoped that the foreboding feeling pressing in on her chest was just a product of her life-long fear of Irene packing up her things and leaving her alone._

_But she could see how Irene suddenly stopped heaving and began to ease, like her chest had been emptied now that she had said the things she’d been keeping to herself. Seulgi felt her very own heart clench right on the spot._

_Though, Irene hadn’t stopped crying. She just felt numb and a lot weightless. She still was when she said, “I think we need a break.”_

_“No!” Seulgi vehemently refused. She treaded the distance between Irene and her, and held her wife by her face. “I’ll cut the contract short, okay? I’ll—I’ll even take a month off from work if that’s what you want.” She pressed her forehead against Irene’s, planted kisses all over her face that wiped the tears away. Though she could still taste them on Irene’s lips. “We can go to the hospital tomorrow, okay? I’ll call now, or drive to make the appointment, okay?”_

_She wasn’t kissing her back, but Seulgi refused to give up. “Baby please, take those words back. I can fix this.”_

_She took both of Irene’s hands and guided them to cup her cheeks, her own hands covering each to pin them in place. “Joohyun, let me fix this. Give me a chance to fix this.”_

_Irene only stared at her before withdrawing her hands, dropping them listlessly to her side as she shook her head. And in that simple motion, Seulgi felt everything crash down on her all at once, like a freight train she couldn’t stop._

_“No, I don't think you can.”_

...

  
  


_Two weeks. Seulgi spent all of her time trying to convince Irene that she was completely onboard; that she wanted the very same thing Irene did._

_“But why does it feel like you’re just saying it because you don’t want to lose me?” Irene had told her then. “That you’re only saying the things I want to hear?”_

_“But I do want it!” Seulgi defended. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling helpless at the way the love of her life seemed to be slipping further from her fingers no matter how tight she held on. “I do want a family with you, Joohyun.”_

_Irene smiled, but it was all teeth; too sharp to be genuine. “Just not now, right? Or the next three years?”_

_“Hyun,” Seulgi mumbled, pleading. “I meant what I said. I’ll cut the contract short if you want me to. You just need to tell me. Talk to me, please.”_

_“But would it make you happy if I did? Or would you grow to resent me when the time comes?” Irene fired back, challenging. Because it wasn’t even about timing anymore. It was now about Seulgi’s sincerity, and if she wholeheartedly meant it when she said she wanted to start a family with her now, or if she was just saying all the things she knew would make Irene stay._

_When the taller woman didn’t answer, Irene pulled on the sling of her bag that was hooked on her shoulder, a telltale sign that she was done with the conversation. “Excuse me but I have to go.”_

_…_

  
  


_And then, it was permanent._

_Seulgi was still reeling from it all when Irene merely pushed the untouched cup of tea she made for her during breakfast one morning; dropped the words that she was absolutely petrified to hear._

_She was too frozen, feeling too numb and too hollow to sink on her knees and beg Irene not to take her whole world away._

_“Seulgi, I want a divorce.”_


	2. two: i cannot seem to operate

_ you call me up again just to break me like a promise; so casually cruel in the name of being honest _

_ \- all too well, taylor swift _

Things go as they tend to. Seulgi’s world may have grinded into a complete halt, but it  _ doesn’t _ for the rest. To them, it’s still spinning, rotating around their own personal axes.

The sun still rises and sets on various times, the moon still waxes and wanes. The hours still turn to days, to weeks, to months. 

But Seulgi is reeling out of her own orbit, her days blurring into moments simply spent trying to breathe without feeling like there’s a spear that pins her heart in its place.

(It’s worse when she hears Irene’s name. Seulgi feels like she’s suddenly jumping off a cliff and diving straight into freezing water, and ice and needles puncture her lungs, letting all the water in until she’s drowning.

It’s  _ worst _ when she sleeps, dreams, and jolts awake in sweats and wet sobs—to her hand grasping at the air, reaching for a face that’s no longer there.)

Things  _ go _ , and Seulgi supposes it’s only really a matter of time until she crosses paths with Irene again. They may work in different circles but they have the same set of friends, the same people in their lives that Seulgi will never have the heart to abandon no matter what happens.

This is exactly what she tells herself when Eunji blows her phone up with five consecutive  _ are you really sure?  _ messages, and a phone call after it takes Seulgi longer than a minute to reply.

“ _ It’s just—I just really need your help _ ,” Eunji stutters nervously. Seulgi doesn’t have to see her to picture the way she’s gnawing at her lips.

She cradles the phone in between her ear and her shoulder, freeing a hand to grab a pair of tight black jeans hanging in their— _ her _ —half-empty walk-in closet.

(How ironic, really. She used to complain about getting more closet room, and now she has more space than she knows what to do with.)

She slips it on and walks out, grabs a pair of shoes along the way while pointedly averting her gaze from the completely made bed that she hasn’t changed the sheets of, since the day Irene rolled her suitcase out of the apartment door. “It’s fine, Eunji,” she replies. Still, the line is silent, so she adds, “I can handle it.”

“ _ Yeah? _ ” The woman on the other line asks, seeking some form of assurance. And for a moment, Seulgi curses the fact that between her and all of her friends, she’s known as the one who wears her heart out on her sleeve. “ _ You really think so? You won’t... I don’t know, scowl the entire time or something? _ ”

“I’m not gonna break down and cry, Eunji,” Seulgi gripes, because despite the innoxious words, she knows what Eunji really means. They’ve been friends for a while now after all. “It’s just lunch, right? I don’t even have to make small talk. Or talk to her at all.”

Eunji turns quiet once more. Seulgi would think she has hung up on her, if not for the sound of her breathing. Then, she murmurs, “ _ Seulgi, I’m sorry. _ ”

Seulgi drops the shoe strings with a sigh that rings all over the line; and the pretense that she wants to tie a perfect knot, when she’s really just lacing them to have something to spend half her mind on while trying to get through the conversation. She straightens up, dropping her weight against the couch’s rest, and then clutches the phone back within her hand. “What for?”

“ _ For making you do this. Even though I know you’re not ready _ .”

Seulgi almost says that she’ll never be so it won’t really make any difference. But it’s going to lead to more doubts coming from Eunji, ones that she doesn’t have the energy to reassure when she barely can even convince her own self.

Besides, she knows that whatever Eunji has planned, it’s too vital to miss, and so she just sighs once more. “It’s okay.” She tips her head back, letting it fall on the curve that tops the couch rest. Her eyes fix on that spot on her ceiling where the wallpaper is starting to peel off, thinks she should get on that soon before it collapses on her too. “I can spend an hour or so in a room with her. For Wendy.”

Eunji’s breath of relief wafts to Seulgi’s line, louder than she probably intended. “ _ Thank you, Seulgom-ah, _ ” she says. Her voice is full of gratitude that Seulgi can’t help but feel a little better. “ _ I just—I know I haven’t really been the most helpful friend lately, being swamped with cases and all. Hell, I don’t even think I’ve been a good wife. But, Seul, you’re not alone, okay? I’m here. Wendy and I, are. _ ”

“You’re trying to keep the city safe,” Seulgi justifies. “Besides, I’m fine.” 

She checks the time on her wristwatch, sees that it’s a good hour and a half till the lunch Eunji is calling her about. She still has ample time to spend on walking around aimlessly while trying to get used to the ache that she knows will flood her once she steps inside the same room, and another vein is torn open, adding to the ones she hasn’t even stitched closed. 

“Everything’s gonna be fine.”

…

  
  


Everything is  _ not  _ fine. 

Irene glides through the restaurant’s doors and into their table like the goddess Seulgi has always regarded her as, and Seulgi is completely, physically unable to look away.

She’s the last to arrive, blowing in in her dark blue scrubs like a hurricane that Seulgi isn’t prepared to handle. A  _ crisis  _ that smiles taut at Seulgi, and bows at her out of courtesy and manners Seulgi knows Irene has been strictly raised with.

Seulgi returns the smile in kind, bows so low her forehead almost hits the table. In another time, Joy, who’s sitting right in front of her, would have laughed. But there’s nothing humorous about the stiffness that takes over Seulgi’s entire form, and the strained clench of Irene’s jaw as she sinks down on the chair next to Yeri, one seat away from Seulgi.

It feels hot inside the restaurant despite the cold Autumn breeze that seeps through the gap beneath the double doors. The heat lingers even after Eunji clears her throat, wrapping around Seulgi’s head like a globe that’s starting to take all the air away.

“So, uh,” Eunji begins to say. “Thanks again for coming to help me plan this surprise baby shower for Wendy.”

“You didn’t really give us a choice,  _ unnie _ ,” Yeri teases while Joy chuckles in agreement. Seulgi feels her grip on both sides of her chair slightly go lax, though whatever is wringing her heart doesn’t ease.

Eunji shoots Yeri a grateful look upon seeing Irene smirk in agreement too. “I know, I know. And yes, it’s in a month but, work isn’t really giving me that much free time so I have to start putting it together early, you know?” She flips her handy notebook onto its back and quickly leafs through the pages, until she reaches the checklist written on one of the blank sheets at the middle. “So, Joy and Yeri are going to take care of the balloons. And Wendy’s mom will be baking the cupcakes we’re going to give away.”

“Do you have a venue yet?” Irene asks. Seulgi’s knee, in turn, jerks of its own accord. “I know a place that you can rent. It’s a ten-minute walk from  _ Haseong Med _ .”

Seulgi  _ knows  _ that Eunji utters a reply. She hears her voice, but it sounds like it’s muffled by water and not one of Eunji’s words makes sense because her brain is suddenly tuning everything out that isn’t the soft lilt of Irene’s tone, while the rest of her entire being is too busy telling herself to breathe.

She almost misses Eunji calling her name. And it’s only out of pure luck that she gets to respond in time; a bullet she considers dodged even though Joy regards her with narrowed eyes brimming with curiosity.

(Seulgi promised that she can handle it. She has failed one person enough, and she refuses to add more to that list.)

“The uhm, cake,” Eunji explains at Seulgi’s soft  _ yeah _ ?. 

She seems anxious now, and a lot concerned. Seulgi pretends not to notice and recedes inside her head, flipping through the things she  _ did  _ manage to catch as she looks for anything she missed before  _ cake _ .

There’s  _ nothing _ , and so Seulgi lets out a heavy breath then says, “What about it?”

“Eunji-unnie wants to know if you can take care of it,” Yeri repeats Eunji’s words; for once, she isn’t teasing. “Since Joy and I will have to drive around the city to get most of the party needs. And Joohyun-unnie’s gonna take care of the decorations.”

“Uh, sure,” Seulgi agrees, swallowing visibly at the mention of Irene’s name. “Carrot, right?”

Everyone rounding their table freezes, including herself— _ especially  _ herself. And Seulgi has to scramble for more words because, shit,  _ shit _ , that’s not it. “I mean, red velvet?”

She doesn’t dare cast a glance at Irene’s direction, keeping her gaze only at Eunji. It is credit to the latter’s years of facing hardened cutthroats that her face doesn’t pull in any way, and simply answers matter-of-factly, “Yes, red velvet.”

But at the corner of her eye, Seulgi can see the way Irene swallows and screws her eyes shut, expelling her breath slowly through pursed lips. It’s a dead giveaway that she’s wrestling with herself, and is trying to regain some semblance of control.

Back then, it usually took Seulgi’s warm palm on the small of her back for the moment to pass. And now,  _ God _ , Seulgi wants to do just more than that. She wants to kiss her so bad it almost physically hurts. Kiss her and beg her to come back home, tell her that she’s lost without her, and that she no longer knows how to be alone.

But Irene looks fine again at her next breath, polite and completely composed; her lips pressed together in a half-smile that’s more than Seulgi ever got when Irene first arrived.

And Seulgi can’t help but think that maybe, Irene doesn’t really need her anymore.

…

  
  


They bid each other goodbye with the same  _ damn  _ smile, terse and overly civil than ever before. Seulgi bows; Irene bows back.

But Seulgi walks out of the restaurant first. She has watched Irene turn her back and leave one too many times, she doesn’t think whatever’s left of her heart can bear one more.

…

  
  


The cold settles in completely in the week that passes. It’s almost glacial despite the humidity on the overcast days, following Seulgi wherever she goes like a shadow. Or her own ghosts.

It sticks to her skin, permeates her bones, and she finds herself rubbing her palms together for what little warmth her empty hands can offer more often than not.

(Irene’s hand in between hers used to be enough; their fingers twining inside the pocket of Seulgi’s trench coat was akin to cupping a steaming mug of tea to her chest on snowy days.)

But it’s proving to be a difficult task right now, having to alternate it with pushing a practically empty grocery cart while she weaves through display cans and vacant aisles.

She has finally run out of something to eat that isn’t mouldy pickles or expired soup in a can, and has gone through probably every single food chain that delivers takeout. And so she puts three layers of clothing on, and walks her way to the grocery store fifteen blocks down from her apartment complex.

The store isn’t crowded, thankfully; a very convenient happenstance to Seulgi’s plan of simply zipping in and out. She ambles to the row of bottled waters first, grabbing three regular-sized ones from the closest brand she spots. The cereals are next, where Seulgi snags the first box of cornflakes whose name she barely pays attention to, and then the snacks aisle where she picks the smallest can of original-flavored Pringles over her usual.

She’s making her way to the nearest counter when her feet swivels to the left—she’d say it’s reflex, the kind of muscle memory rooted in her marrows—and the next thing she knows, she’s cruising by the laundry aisle and the smell of fabric conditioners are suddenly invading her senses.

Seulgi feels a little lightheaded from the strong scents that surround her air, their sundry whiffs grazing her nose. It’s worse on an empty stomach, she vaguely remembers that fact (though she immediately blocks the memory that comes right next:  _ how  _ she knew about it); and so she scrambles to her feet, stalking towards the other end of the rather long aisle.

It’s weak, all things considered. Seulgi’s definitely had worse head rushes upon waking up. But there’s a woman who turns to the very same aisle, struggling to push a cart half-full, and Seulgi suddenly finds her own hollowed chest being ripped open.

She’s no medical expert; it has always been her  _ ex _ —Irene’s field, yet, Seulgi’s quite sure that it isn’t a vision driven by the scents swirling in her head.

The universe just really, really hates her sometimes.

…

  
  


Irene crosses out another item from the list she quickly cobbled up this morning, in between her walks during the last two post-op rounds.

Wednesdays are her new grocery days, a routine she has started mere weeks ago. It admittedly is still taking some getting used to—the hurried scrawl on a haphazardly torn piece of paper an obvious proof—just like how she now goes for a new brand of fabric conditioner that smells nothing like her old one. 

(And refraining to wonder if Seulgi still does her grocery on Saturdays, just like before.)

Though, Irene doesn’t really know why she’s chosen a brand that almost always goes on the topmost level of the shelf, when there are literally two other rows full of plausible ones. But she likes the scent, and so she figures she’s just going to have to deal with a few seconds of standing on her toes to snag a medium-sized bottle.

Irene does just that, frees one hand and leans up, her fingers wiggling to move a bottle by the shelf’s edge. But it seems to need a quick re-stocking with hardly six bottles left, and they’re all pushed to a spot she can barely reach.

She drops back on her heels with a huff, her nose crinkling a little. Her next two tries result the same, the closest bottle barely even moving, so she yields with a sigh and just decides to ask for assistance. 

She’s about to turn back in search of any stocker in charge when a taller form eclipses the fluorescent lights, casting a faint distorted shadow on the shelf’s rows and a familiar warmth against her side that she hasn’t felt in a while.

Still, Irene startles a little at the outstretched hand that she sees darting up at the corner of her eye; almost jumps out of her skin at the sound of plastic scratching against wood next. And her heart doesn’t settle. It does the exact opposite instead, slamming on her chest as a raspy  _ sorry  _ follows the squeak of wheels on the concrete floor.

Though everything around her seems to slow into a standstill, and what’s left moving are her eyes that slowly trail the clothed limb. From its fingers curled around the bottle to the face that never fails to make Irene’s heart melt and race at the same time; and up to the piercing yet tender gaze that Irene once mapped a future on every night, right in those lasting moments caught at the cusp of falling asleep.

“Hi,” Seulgi greets. Her smile is uncertain, like she’s dreading to see Irene and  _ yet _ , she craves the littlest sight of her. And she has to lick at her chapped lips before speaking again. “Here. It looked like you needed some help.”

Irene almost,  _ almost _ gapes at the taller woman. But she manages  _ not  _ to, scraping enough presence of mind at the very last second; bits and pieces from the worn inches of her skin pieced together like a shield.

Instead, she takes the bottle Seulgi is offering—and if their fingers brush, she pretends that there’s no spark of electricity that shoots straight to her spine, and that she  _ absolutely  _ doesn’t miss the kind of warmth only Seulgi can comfort her with—and carefully places it down in her own cart.

“Thanks,” she tells her, then says, “Fancy meeting you here, huh?”

They both know it’s Irene’s manners in the works that compelled her to speak, out of not really knowing what to say as Irene never expected to run into Seulgi. Still, Seulgi’s eyes arch into half-arcs in response.

(They don’t fold completely like they often do. Not when seeing Irene feels more like a dream she’s not sure she wants to wake up from, no matter how painful living it is.)

“Yeah,” Seulgi answers with a stiff shrug. Irene doesn’t miss the tightness that presses her lips together, and the way she grips the cart’s handle so hard her knuckles are turning white. “I uh—I ran out of stuff.”

Irene promptly glances down at Seulgi’s cart, catching sight of its meager contents. She tries really hard not to frown in disapproval, but it’s barely even full with nothing remotely healthy in it that her brows crease of their own accord. She’s not even sure if she can call bottled waters, a cereal box and a small can of Pringles  _ stuff _ .

She lets her gaze travel back to Seulgi’s form. Her hair looks a little longer; still unruly on days Seulgi doesn’t bother with primping it up, just like now. 

Her shirt is almost hanging loosely on her shoulders. But Irene vividly remembers that it used to be a snug fit, and so she permits herself to look closely, the dip in between her brows etching deeper as she then notices how Seulgi seems skinnier than they have last seen each other.

A week ago.  _ One week _ , and Seulgi has already visibly lost weight.

Irene doesn’t really know how to feel about that. Her heart twinges harder the longer she studies her, throbs at the idea that Seulgi might not be taking good care of herself.

But she holds her tongue, not wanting to encroach on something she has lost the right to the minute the tip of her pen hit the smooth surface of white paper, and the life she shared with her ended in just three strokes.

And so Irene merely nods in response, unable to find the words. All she has is an  _ I see _ , because Seulgi’s warmth is so distracting, and so are her eyes, staring at her like  _ that _ . Like she’s still the best thing that has ever happened to her despite  _ everything _ .

“I guess I’ll be going,” Seulgi starts to say when it dawns on her that Irene isn’t going to say anything else. But she pauses at  _ please _ , seemingly debating with herself whether or not she should continue her thoughts. Though, in the end, she does. “Please always take care of yourself, Joohyun.”

...

  
  


She loses sight of Seulgi in between the laundry and kitchenware aisles, only to see her again crossing the parking lot as she’s stuffing the plastic bags inside the trunk of her car.

(Odd, really, if Irene thinks about it. She’s quite certain Seulgi would be halfway on her drive home by the time all of her groceries have been bagged, and not walking past the taxi bay and out to the street only now.

Unless Seulgi waited for her. But Irene refuses to entertain such kind of mind-addling thoughts even for a second.)

The drops of rain falling from the sky do not give Irene the chance to dwell on it. Giant drops that sound angry as they bounce off of the roof of her car, the wetness splashing through parts of her hoodie and breaking Irene’s thoughts. 

She scrambles to the driver’s side for shelter; turns the ignition on just as she’s sliding in on the smooth leather seat to fill the inside with heat. Irene doesn’t really wait for her engine to warm up, and hurriedly pulls out of her parking space in a race to get back to the apartment before the gutters turn the roads into shallow rivers.

Though it hasn’t even been ten minutes yet traffic is already building up on her usual route. Irene  _ tsks _ and takes the first jam-free left turn she passes by, rounding back to the grocery store before speeding towards the other end of the street—an elongated drive home.

The rain refuses to let up, fogging the windows of her car when its humidity mixes with the cold Autumn air and the feeble gusts exuding from her car’s heater. It leaves Irene no choice but to turn the heat down to clear the blur; and  _ yet _ , it isn’t the lack of it that makes her freeze on her seat. It’s the realization that she’s heading down a painfully familiar road that she no longer has any business wandering through.

The lamp post by the apartment complex’s front hasn’t changed at all. It still stands curved, its yellow bulb as dim as ever despite the numerous complaints. The open parking still extends to the structure’s side, still littered with all kinds of cars owned by the complex’s occupants.

Theirs  _ was  _ numbered forty three, a space they opted to take rather than one from inside the building’s basement, because Seulgi couldn’t quite remember how to get to the right exit no matter how many times they had driven in and out.

Irene half-expects it to be empty. Seulgi has gone ahead of her just by five minutes after all, and there’s just no way she’d already be home (unless she has ignored every red light she’d be passing by).

But it  _ isn’t _ . She spots a car— _ the  _ car—rather easily, glinting amidst the water streaming down her windshield.

Irene’s confusion only grows when she rolls in front of the sleek, blue BMW and checks the plate, staring at the letters and numbers she still knows by heart. A frown quickly takes over, creasing firmer as it dawns on her what it means; that the car is  _ here _ , looking unused and unmoved for the longest time.

Irene cranks up the wipers before she steps on the gas, gnawing at her bottom lip while the churning in her gut drops to the pit of her stomach.

...

  
  


In Seulgi’s defense, it really didn’t look like it would rain when she stepped out of her apartment.

The sky was overcast, yes, she’s going to admit that, but it has been like that for days, and yet, it never rained. Seulgi really didn’t think this day would be any different.

But she was wrong, and now, here she is, stumbling for shelter underneath the shed of the next bus stop she happens upon, shivering in her drenched clothes.

Seulgi’s chin trembles at the jagged breaths she sucks in. Her lungs feel like she’s filled it with shaved ice, and the arms wrapped around herself just pulls tighter in turn, in hopes of trapping the scarce hot air within.

Though, it still escapes through chattering teeth. Seulgi can only watch the puffs of breath that wafts out into the open.

She stares at the wet pavements again after the wisps have swirled away, honestly considering just running her way back to her apartment. But the downpour seems impossible to battle at this rate, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon either, so Seulgi is left stuck in her dripping clothes and soaked shoes.

She rubs her palms up and down her arms, even up to her shoulders for some poor semblance of heat; suppresses another shiver that threatens to shake her knees.

The rain only seems to pour stronger—like the sky isn’t just crying but angry now, too, all at once—and so Seulgi slinks further back into the shed, sitting on the empty bench as she waits for the moment to pass.

...

  
  


Irene perches herself at the edge of the car seat,  _ on her toes _ in a very literal sense while she cranes her neck and lets her eyes sweep all around the avenue.

It shouldn’t be a struggle, what with the sudden rain ridding the paths of their usual bustle of people. But it’s such a huge city; Seulgi can be  _ anywhere _ , from the safety of someone else’s home to lying dead in a ditch.

(Her heart aches at both thoughts, one more than the other though Irene isn’t really sure  _ which _ .)

Her grip on the steering wheel tightens, fingers clamping around the soft leather cover so rigidly that the raised points dig against her skin. It’s not that Seulgi’s in any kind of danger— _ God _ , she hopes not—it’s just that, Irene knows fairly well how she gets sick so easily. The longer Seulgi isn’t in front of anything remotely warm to dry her off, the worse her chances of not catching a terrible cold gets.

It takes three corner turns and a narrow, slippery downward drive to find her, with Irene’s heart climbing up in her throat. Seulgi is stooped down, occupied with flicking rain off of her shoes that has been kicked back up from the tires of another speeding car. But Irene will know her form from anywhere, and so she slows to a stop, parking right where Seulgi is.

She puts her window down in a hurry, twisting as much as her seatbelt will let her, and yells amidst the pounding of heavy rain. “Seulgi!”

Seulgi’s head snaps up, her eyes following the direction of the sound. She’s completely taken aback when she finds Irene at the end of it, her gaze latching on onto the way Irene anxiously nips at her bottom lip. Though, she’s more focused on trying to decipher the wild worry that stirs its own storm on Irene’s eyes and the relief that dawns on the rest of Irene’s face, than keeping her own expression straight.

Yet she doesn’t really know what to make of it—that doesn’t stir some kind of hope in her that Irene  _ still _ cares; one she really can’t afford to feel right now or any time soon—and so Seulgi shifts her eyes, fixing it at the car in front of her instead.

A shiny black car that feels like Irene is truly moving on. (And if Seulgi is searching for something to douse the tiny spark of hope that blooms in her chest, this  _ is  _ it.)

“Seulgi,” Irene calls out again, albeit calmer this time. “Get in. I’ll drive you ho—” She cuts herself off and swallows thickly. Because  _ it’s _ a word that hurts. Something Irene can’t bring herself to say just yet when  _ home _ used to mean  _ Seulgi _ . 

Instead, she finishes with, “Back.”

A corner of Seulgi’s lips curve up into a shaky smile, the other anchored in place by the ache she feels punching her gut. “Thanks, but I’m okay,” she replies. It’s as polite and as civil as a refusal can be, despite the burning need to run away because she doesn’t think she’d be able to stand close to Irene for more than ten minutes without getting close to tears, let alone sit next to her in an enclosed space, with no one but the two of them. “I can just wait for it to stop.”

Irene doesn’t speak for a long second. She only quietly stares at Seulgi, even though the latter is refusing to meet her eyes. Until she lets go of another breath that almost sounds pleading, then says, “It’s not stopping anytime soon. You could be stuck here all night.”

“It’s fine,” Seulgi tells her. A cold, strong gust sweeps through the street and carries her voice away; it’s honestly a miracle that she’s able to hold in the shiver in her next words. “I’ll just wait for the bus, or run my way home or something.”

Irene’s answering laugh is almost inaudible, though it shakes as she does her head, mumbling to herself. “Always the stubborn one.” She twists back on her seat, faces the windshield again, before pressing one of the buttons on the wooden panel by the left side’s door.

Seulgi can only watch her slide the windows up, giving in into her wishes. 

(But she would be lying if she says it doesn’t feel like a stab on an old wound that has never healed, even if she did tell her to go this time.)

She swallows down the tight knot in her throat, freeing the haggard breath stuck behind as she waits for another car to take her entire world away,  _ again _ .

But it doesn’t move. And Seulgi’s eyes can only blink in time with the hazard lights that come to life. They widen at the gentle slam of a car door, and when she looks, Irene’s already braving the heavy rain with a purple umbrella and a thick navy blue hoodie as her only defenses.

“Get in the car, Seulgi,” Irene orders as soon as she has rounded the car’s front and halts two steps away from Seulgi. She never liked bossing the other woman around—they’ve always been equals in her eyes regardless of age—but Seulgi’s choosing to be stubborn, leaving her with very little choice.

(She knows she could heel and just leave. But even if things are how they are now, Irene will never have the heart to do that.

It almost broke her the last time; Irene’s sure the next definitely would.)

Seulgi merely looks up at her in response. Irene seems taller from where she’s sitting, far more composed compared to the hot mess that Seulgi knows she is. And she feels the ache from every part of her that’s already hurt sore dig deeper under her skin, wedging its pangs in the spaces between at Irene’s throaty  _ please _ .

Suddenly, she’s just  _ so  _ exhausted of everything that her nod is barely there. But Irene doesn’t miss it—with Seulgi, she never misses  _ anything _ —instead gives her enough of a nudge to step closer and meet Seulgi halfway, as the taller woman ducks under the umbrella she hasn’t folded away until they’re face to face.

Seulgi hasn’t stood this close to Irene since the time she asked her to stay, a  _ dernier ressort _ turned  _ coup de grâce  _ that snapped off of its strings and spun out of her hold. And Seulgi has to shove her hand that isn’t gripping the bag of groceries inside her coat’s pocket, fingers curling into a fist with her nails digging crescent moons into her palm, just so she’d refrain from doing something stupid.

Yet, the proximity is enough for her to smell Irene’s shampoo. She hasn’t changed it, she notes, and it lingers on her nose the same way it always does, swimming in her head just like before.

Seulgi finds herself pushing forward and slipping inside the car with bated breath. She stays deathly still, even more so when Irene slides in back to the driver’s seat, too stiff to move for a multitude of reasons.

Afraid to make a bigger mess inside this brand new, completely unfamiliar vehicle is what tops it all, so she says, “I’m sorry I’m making a mess.”

“It’s okay,” Irene assures her. She doesn’t push the handbrake down yet, and instead roots for her kit that she keeps inside the compartment under the armrest that separates the two front seats.

“Here.” She tears through a brand new pack of surgical towels open, handing them to Seulgi. “You can use these.”

Seulgi hesitates on taking the offered pieces of cloth. A ride home is already one thing, and anything else she takes from Irene might just be too much. 

It must have been evident on her face, in the way she tugs her lip in between her teeth, because Irene sighs and takes it on herself to lean closer and dab at the droplets that have slid down on Seulgi’s forehead. “You’re going to get sick if you don’t dry yourself.”

“I—I’ll do it,” the taller woman manages to reply. It comes out more as an embarrassing squeak than actual words, and if they were  _ anything  _ but what they are to each other now, Irene would tease Seulgi to her heart’s content.

Yet, she can’t. Because Irene honestly doesn’t have the faintest idea what they are. They’re friends but they’re  _ not _ , and she doesn’t really think they will ever be simple as that.

Not when just having Seulgi this close to her side again and watching her squeeze her hair dry is the most painful yet the most peaceful she’s felt in a while. Like there’s a storm and the wind is howling, but Irene feels perfectly safe inside this car because it’s where Seulgi is.

And God, _not_ _when_ she still loves her just as much as she’s always had, right from the start.

...

  
  


When Seulgi’s all but chapped and dry, Irene finally eases on the brakes, punching on the gas until they’re driving out of the street.

Seulgi only peers out the window, at the empty streets that are somewhat a blur, thanks to the rain that’s still hammering on the roof and splashing the glass.

It’s densely quiet despite the radio crooning in the background, which only grows as the car rolls into a stop at a traffic light, the stillness making Seulgi feel so uneasy that she’s brought back to a habit she has never really managed to get rid off.

She lifts a now dry hand, pressing the knuckles onto an open palm. The cracks get Irene clucking her tongue at her in response, and Irene’s hand reaching out to lightly tap hers. 

It’s a little too late for Irene to realize that she probably shouldn’t have done it, when Seulgi’s hand hovers in the air as she freezes for a split second before bowing at Irene in apology.

Yet, Seulgi’s still the one who mumbles a  _ sorry  _ out loud first. A word that she’s said too many times that she can’t help but wonder if it’s starting to lose its meaning.

Irene opens her mouth to speak, but the traffic light turns green once more and she’s forced to return her attention onto the road.

Seulgi just goes back to staring outside the window.

...

  
  


It’s a fairly short drive from the bus stop’s shed and to the apartment complex. A silent, wordless one, though when Irene pulls up in front of the entrance, Seulgi doesn’t move right away and instead thanks her politely.

Irene replies with a courteous  _ you’re welcome _ , a timid smile tacked at the end of it. But she makes a split second decision to talk to the other woman again just as Seulgi wrestles the seatbelt off and turns, calls her name right before she can step out of Irene’s car—and, inevitably, her life for another painful set of weeks or months, leaving her with a burgeoning question that she’s been wanting to ask.

“Seulgi.”

Seulgi drops the hand that’s about to jerk the passenger door open, twisting around to look. “Yes?”

“Why didn’t you bring the car with you?”

It’s a simple question. But it has so many answers that Seulgi doesn’t even know where to start: because it’s supposed to be  _ theirs _ , because Irene’s perfume still lingers on the seats, because the lavender air freshener they got from Daegu hasn’t completely wasted away and all it ever does is remind her of Irene.

Seulgi feels her jaw tighten, though her voice is even when she settles with a thought and says, “I’m trying to save on gas.”

It’s the least complicated one after all.

“Thank you again, for the ride,” she repeats. There’s a tremor in her voice and her eyes glisten, which explains why she doesn’t bother with bidding Irene goodbye. She simply smiles tight, turns and finally hops out of the car, following the cobbled path that leads to the apartment complex. All the while willing herself not to glance over her shoulder to where she can feel Irene is still looking.

...

  
  


(It’s just the third time Irene has watched her walk away. Yet in those three times, Seulgi has taken a part of her with her that Irene knows she’s never going to get back.)

...

  
  


_ Seulgi eyed the extravagant amount of bubbles coating their humble bathtub, excitement filling her features at the first dip of her frozen, numbed toes on the warm water. _

_ Her wife had drawn them a bath. She said it was to combat the snow that pillowed down on them on their walk back home from dinner with their friends—it was a nice night out that she wanted to spend with Irene, so she convinced her to not bring their car—though Seulgi thought it was really more of an excuse to try out the new bath essence Irene had insisted on getting. _

_ Nonetheless, she wasn’t complaining. Especially when Irene sauntered inside the bathroom and whipped off the damp shirt that was starting to stick to her skin, sliding off her tight jeans and kicking both pieces of clothing to a corner. Something she never would’ve done on a normal night. _

_ But it wasn’t like any other night. The sentimental part of Irene would say it was magical, with the snow blanketing everything that their eyes could reach in thick yet soft white sheets. This year’s first snow—their first as a married couple, too—that Seulgi couldn’t resist leading her towards the park a few blocks away from their apartment. _

_ “Hurry up, Hyun!” Seulgi had told her then, pulled at their linked hands as her words dissolved into huge, contagious giggles. _

_ “Baby, where are we going?” She had asked. But she didn’t stop walking. Her steps even grew brisk to match Seulgi’s giant strides, until their shoulders were brushing side to side. _

_ Seulgi had only grinned at her in response. She was embarrassingly charmed by the smile that folded Seulgi’s eyes into arcs, rising behind the striped scarf wrapped around Seulgi’s neck. Ultimately so that she hadn’t noticed how Seulgi had led her further inside the park.  _

_ She merely did because the dark sky turned a different kind of dark when they reached the small clearing that was surrounded by thicker trees. Its ground was covered with thinner snow, what with the branches and the shades cradling the more abundant white sheets. _

_ Though, it also seemed a little brighter, thanks to the multitude of lights coming from the string lights hanging by the lower branches. And this was what Irene meant by magical, because the snow glinted under them like they were made of stardust, and she could only stare at the expanse in awe. _

_ She only had snapped back into attention when she felt Seulgi’s lips pressing on her cheek. “It’s nice here, right?” _

_ Irene could just nod in answer. Seulgi didn’t say anything else, simply lifted their joined hands and slowly spun her around, Seulgi’s button nose scrunching as she grinned at her when Irene made a full circle and finally faced her wife.  _

_ Seulgi untangled their fingers, but only so she could loop Irene’s hands on her neck while hers found their home around Irene’s waist. _

_ “Seulgi-yah,” Irene had said amidst her own giggles. She could feel them starting to sway in time with whatever music was coming from the center of the park, with Seulgi leading them in slow circles. “What are we doing?” _

_ “I have no idea either,” her wife had answered, chuckling first before leaning down to close the scant distance in between them. She had been a hair's breadth away, with Seulgi’s nose bridging the gap as she nuzzled it with Irene’s, until she finally captured her lips in the sweetest kiss. _

…

  
  


_ Irene couldn’t help but groan in satisfaction as she lowered herself into the tub. It was a very relaxing contrast to the cold that seeped under every inch of her from their impromptu detour, with Seulgi’s very own warmth as the one that calmed the chills that were about to settle on her spine. “Oh my God, I could sleep here. Can we sleep here?” _

_ Seulgi chuckled. Irene could feel her breath hitting her naked shoulder as Seulgi gathered her long hair up in a messy bun before gently pulling her close, her wife’s arms snaking around her until they were pressed against each other and she could feel Seulgi’s heartbeat on her bare skin. “We could, babe. As long as the water’s still warm.” _

_ “Twenty minutes tops then,” Irene deduced. She sunk further into Seulgi’s embrace, humming softly when she felt the taller woman tuck her head in the crook of her neck. She closed her eyes and smiled at the brush of Seulgi’s lips that traced the slope of her shoulder; shivered at the tip of Seulgi’s tongue that dipped into her collarbone. “No,” groaned Irene. “Baby, don’t start! I’m too tired.” _

_ “I’m not, I promise,” Seulgi assured.  _

_ Another lick, and a soft nip that Irene half-heartedly voiced a protest at. “That doesn’t look like you’re not starting anything.” _

_ Seulgi laughed her surrender, settling on planting innocent, open-mouthed kisses on every surface that her lips could reach. Then, she said, “I’m just… I’m just really happy, I guess.” _

_ Irene shifted her head up to look at her wife, her eyes growing tender at the earnest look that reflected on Seulgi’s own. She leaned up, and then kissed Seulgi’s jaw. “Yeah?” _

_ “I’m still probably on a high from the wedding,” the other woman stated, brushing it off with a shrug as she pretended to ponder. “I mean, it’s been just two months after all. Maybe three?” _

_ “Three and a half,” Irene corrected her with narrowed eyes squinting. “Are you saying you don’t remember our wedding date?” _

_ “I’m honestly still blanked out,” Seulgi admitted. All she could focus on about back then was how she was finally married to the love of her life, and everything else was this one giant blur of happy things. “All I know is you looked so beautiful that day. And that your dad cried because I kissed you. And mine cried during his speech.” _

_ Irene pulled back a little, staring at her in disbelief. _

_ “And the cake! That was some damn good cake.” _

_ “Are you being serious right now?” _

_ Seulgi nodded in answer, then pressed on, “The honeymoon too, of course. I mean, I was chafing by the next morn—” _

_ She didn’t get to finish as Irene shoved her away, her flushed cheeks now red for an entirely different reason that Seulgi could only laugh at. “It was a compliment, baby!” _

_ “Oh my God, stop!” Irene whined. She splashed some water on her wife this time, trying to wash off the stupid, smug smirk that adorned Seulgi’s ridiculously-beautiful-but-right-now-annoying face. _

_ “I mean, that thing you did with your tongue…” Seulgi continued, then left it at a pregnant pause so she could waggle her brows, and ended it with an impressed whistle. _

_ “Shut up!” Irene pulled away from Seulgi’s hold—weakened by laughter and her attempts to block Irene’s hand that wouldn’t stop smacking her just about everywhere—and turned around, straddling her because there really was only one way to wipe off Seulgi’s smirk. _

_ “Ah.” Seulgi clucked her tongue, grinning. “And here I thought you said not to start anything—” _

_ The rest of her words were muffled by a deep kiss. (Not that she was complaining.) _

...

  
  


The month passes in a haze that Seulgi tries to survive day by day, vacillating between work and trying not to think about how different her life used to be for the rest of it. The first is easy; she’s always had excelled in her job—maybe even a little too much sometimes. 

But the second? Seulgi is still trying to figure that out.

If it hadn’t been for the calendar reminder she has set on her phone, and the five hundred calls and ten thousand messages Eunji bombards her with three days before, she would’ve forgotten the surprise baby shower completely.

But she hasn’t. So this is where she finds herself now: needing to hitch a ride to bring the giant cake she picked up yesterday.

(She still refuses to use what was once her car, but getting a new one feels like a kind of immutability that she isn’t ready to take on yet.

It’s not like she’s hoping that the past months have just been one big nightmare she’d eventually wake up from ( _she_ _is_ ); she simply needs a little more time.

Ah, the irony.)

She can easily call for a cab. But Eunji has decided to go all out like she’s gunning for  _ Wife Of The Year _ , which means Wendy’s not just getting a surprise party but also a new place, and Seulgi can’t afford to get lost and potentially ruin everything since she has Wendy’s favorite cake.

“ _ Seulgom-ah _ ,” Eunji coos at her over the phone. The sweetness dripping from her tone only tells Seulgi that whatever she’s going to say next, she isn’t going to like it. “ _ We sort of fell short on the paper cups, so I sent Joy and Yeri back to the store to get more. _ ”

“Okay,” Seulgi replies. “Any chance they could swing by my place and pick me up?”

“ _ I’m sorry, _ ” the other woman instead apologizes. And even though she can’t see, Seulgi can picture her hesitant wince.

Seulgi heaves a deep breath in answer, then, “Yeah, I figured. And you’re probably on your way to pick Wendy up, huh?”

“ _ Yeah. I just got in the car. _ ”

“I guess I’ll just really have to take a cab,” she mumbles, short of a groan to becoming a whine. “But thanks anyway, Eun—”

“ _ Seul _ —” Eunji interjects before she even gets the chance to hang up. “ _ I—uhm… _ ”

“What is it?” Seulgi asks, and then checks the time on her watch. When she sees that she still has a good twenty minutes to spare, she adds. “Do you need me to pick up anything else?”

“ _ No. Just _ ...” There’s a pregnant pause Eunji leaves the line with, not really knowing how to break it to the other woman. But there hasn’t been any better way to tell Seulgi  _ anything _ than to give it to her straight, so she says, “ _ Irene-unnie’s actually on her way there now. _ ”

Seulgi feels her heart slam in her chest, her throat closing up as if she’d spew anxiety if she so much as utters another word. It’s still pounding hard even when she lets a strained  _ ah  _ slip out together with a breath.

She has barely even recovered from the last time Irene had driven her home, and now, she has to endure it all over again.

Seulgi eyes the closed fridge door, imagining the untouched six-pack cooling by the chiller; briefly wonders if it’s going to make her less of a good friend if she shows up all ramped up in alcohol. But it’s her best friend’s day, and Seulgi has avoided her enough that she’s probably already on top of her shit list—if a saint like Wendy has one—so Seulgi just shakes the thought away and swallows down the  _ whys  _ dangling at the tip of her tongue.

Eunji takes her silence as sign to continue, says after a beat. “ _ For what it’s worth, I didn’t ask her. _ ”

_ I didn’t have to _ goes unsaid, but Seulgi doesn’t wait around long enough to hear Eunji say it.

...

  
  


The call leaves her with barely enough time to clean up (just merely shaking by the island countertop, at the thought of Irene  _ inside  _ the apartment again, and it makes her miss Irene so much she doesn’t know what to do with her hands). 

Irene is nothing but punctual, and so when Eunji said she’d arrive in fifteen minutes, she’s ringing Seulgi up and knocking at Seulgi’s door a minute after.

The only thing Seulgi manages to fix is the clothes she’s wearing, smoothening the creases on her dress shirt and picking off the non-existent lint on her black jeans. But the mess that is her life is scattered all over, evidences of how she’s failing to keep the pieces together ever since Irene left.

Her nerves are almost frayed but she manages to remain civil when she cracks her door open, even returning Irene’s hesitant smile in kind.

“Hey,” Irene greets her. “I kind of heard you needed a ride?”

The hand grasping on the door knob curls tightly at Irene’s even—but sweet, always so sweet—tone. It’s been a month since Seulgi has last seen her, and yet, her heart still threatens to beat its way out of her chest.

She has to swallow hard to keep it in its place, and then steps aside to let Irene in. There’s really no point in trying to hide the state of her apartment and asking Irene to just wait for her at the hallway, when a mere glance is all it will take to see the pillows and the thick duvet that’s sprawled on her unmade couch.

Irene follows her inside, though her gaze seems to be affixed on the twisted sheets that furls past the couch rest, while Seulgi treads towards the kitchen and carefully extracts the cake from the fridge.

Irene feels her heart clench, but it’s not like she’s doing any better when she spends more time lying awake and completely unable to sleep in on call rooms more than her bed back at Yeri’s apartment.

Seulgi lightly kicking the fridge’s door close snaps her back to attention (and if Seulgi catches her staring at the couch  _ they _ once owned, she pretends not to notice).

“All set,” the taller woman states to Irene. 

She watches her shift the box to cradle it more steadily in her arms. The lid rides up when one of its corners get propped against Seulgi with the movement, and so Irene offers, “Need help?”

“No, but thank you,” Seulgi answers politely; thinks she should really be used to this, to their relationship reduced to stilted talks and four-word conversations, tight smiles that make Seulgi’s skin itch.

With a nod, Irene leads the way out to her car. Though, she passes by the pile of clothes collecting dust in the hamper, and is unable to help the  _ tut-tut _ of disapproval that escapes her lips.

Seulgi only smiles sheepishly at being caught, practically hiding behind the box she’s carrying in her arms. It’s not huge per se, just a little bit bigger than the average cake, but it’s enough to cover half of Seulgi’s face. “I’ll get to those, don’t worry. I guess when—”

When she’s no longer busy? When she finally learns to use the washing machine? When she can smell the scent of Irene’s favorite fabric conditioner and not feel like bawling right on the spot?

Irene folds her hands over her stomach, palm pressing against it softly. “When you’ve got absolutely nothing left to wear,” she finishes. And it’s playful and it’s easy that she surprises even her own self with how light it came out.

Yet, Seulgi’s answering chuckle is hoarse, barely there, much like the air circling in her lungs. She’s suddenly breathless at the sight of the genuine, pleased smile on Irene’s face, and suddenly, it’s all too much. “Yeah,” she rasps. “You got me.”

They stand in silence for a beat, their eyes falling on everywhere except at each other: on the stains left by the frames that used to hang on the walls, the splits in the bookshelves—spaces in between Seulgi’s books where the ones Irene owns were once wedged in; on the boxes of takeouts piled near the sink, to the bedroom door that’s hardly ever opened.

Like two people cataloging the end of things.

…

  
  


_ If there was one law that ruled over Irene’s work life, it was: anything that could go wrong will go wrong, and it will go wrong for Bae Joo Hyun. _

_ In this case, it was when her patient’s spleen ruptured right at the very same moment she was about to take it out, and what was supposed to be an hour of surgery turned to almost four. _

_ By the second hour, she had already missed the dinner Seulgi had prepared for them. Granted there was no occasion and they had absolutely nothing to celebrate, but Irene loved it when Seulgi took the time to turn their usual meals into special ones for no reason at all. Her girlfriend was spontaneous like that, still believing up to this day that she was such a no jam she needed to keep Irene on her toes to make up for it. _

_ The sun had long set when she finally got home. It was a moonless night, which plunged the living room of their apartment into a certain kind of darkness that she found hard to maneuver through. It certainly didn’t help that her only source of light were the fluorescent bulbs that lit their floor’s hallways, and that there was no movement inside the apartment even after the creak of their front door rang into the still night. _

_ “Seulgi-yah?” Irene called out. She flicked the lights on but found both the living room and the kitchen empty, save for their fancy plates set on the dining table, and the unlit candle that sat on the center. _

_ She hooked her keys on the rack sticking behind their front door, right next to where Seulgi’s were hanging, and threw her bag on the vacant seat nearest to her. _

_ “Baby?” _

_ Irene figured her girlfriend was somewhere in their bedroom, perhaps already asleep judging by the lack of response. Though she headed towards their kitchen first, placing the array of pastries she had bought on her way home on the white island countertop. They were all Seulgi’s favorite, and she’d really hate to call it a bribe, but they were essentially what it was. _

_ Walking back, it turned out that Seulgi was indeed sleeping in their bedroom. She was sprawled in the middle of the bed, with her feet hanging just a little past the edge. She had nice clothes on and the Oxfords that she only ever wore on fancy occasions, which made the already hefty guilt press in harder on Irene’s chest. _

_ She could hear Seulgi’s soft snores, so she knew that her girlfriend was not feigning sleep. And there was peacefulness in her features, the kind Irene fell asleep to every night. Though the tiny frown that creased in between Seulgi’s brows might be her fault. _

_ Seulgi didn’t even twitch when Irene sat on the bed and the mattress dipped, nor budged when she unlaced the thin black strings and took off her shoes as well as her wool socks. She was about to kiss the frown away when she felt Seulgi’s closed fist dig against her hip. _

_ Irene shifted on the bed, moving to tuck it into Seulgi’s side so as to not crush Seulgi’s loosely balled fingers. But it was when she reached for Seulgi’s wrist that she noticed the glint of something white gold resting in the middle of Seulgi’s palm.  _

_ Irene quickly leaned forward to tap the lamp on, shedding more light—both in a literal sense and then not—in thinking that her mind was playing tricks on her. But, there it was, glittering under the bright glow that their bedside lamp casted all over the room. _

_ Irene felt her heart shoot up past their concrete ceiling and into the rooftop. Because it was a ring, with a humble gem sitting in the middle that she only saw when she lowered her face to check. _

_ “Kang Seulgi!” She yelled, completely unable to help it. Her arms darted out and latched onto Seulgi’s shoulders, shaking her awake. “Yah! Seulgi!” _

_ Seulgi did startle. But she smiles lazily at Irene amidst the sluggish blinks, being the first thing her eyes had set its sights on. “Hey, you’re home.” _

_ Though, she grew confused at the way Irene seemed to only gape at her in response. She lifted herself up, and then propped her weight on her elbow. “Hyun? Are you okay?” _

_ She raised her hand, wanting to wave it in front of an unblinking Irene who seemed to have ceased breathing. But the sight of her clenched fist wiped the remnants of sleep completely, remembering what was concealed in her palm. _

_ “Oh shit,” Seulgi cursed under her breath. She looked at Irene again, debating whether or not to try and hide the white gold ring, but Irene’s lips were already quivering and her eyes were starting to fill with tears, and shit, shit, this was not what she had planned. _

_ Seulgi jumped off of the bed, caging her head in between her arms—that same way she always did whenever she was feeling embarrassed. Her opened fingers ruffled her hair in disheartenment, because she had this whole speech she had written in her head. A speech she slaved a whole week for to perfect, only to be ruined because she fell asleep at the worst possible moment. _

_ Her frustrated groan was what pulled Irene together, calling to her again; calmer this time, but the pleasant shock and disbelief were written all over her watery smile. “Seulgi-yah.” _

_ “I had a speech,” Seulgi told her. “And—and dinner! Also, flowers. And wine! I even had vodka in the freezer in case you said no.” _

_ “Seulgi,” Irene tried once more. She stood up, rounding the bed until she was in front of a restless Seulgi. She caught her by her wrist, pulling her back and close to her, and then cupped both of Seulgi’s warm, flushed cheeks. _

_ The pads of her thumb wiped the tears that filled her girlfriend’s eyes, wiped them until they were dry because Irene wanted to be clear—she wanted to look into her eyes and be clear when she said a breathless, “Baby, yes.” _

_ It took a long second before Seulgi’s face slowly lit up, but it was good all the same, like the clouds opened and gave way to the sun to shine at its best. _

_ Though it fell on the very next beat, replaced by a firm frown that Seulgi often wore whenever she made a very difficult decision. “Wait, no.” _

_ “What do you mean no?!” _

_ “Baby,” Seulgi cooed upon feeling Irene’s temper quickly rise. “Not like this.”  _

_ She pressed a wet kiss on Irene’s lips to distract her so she could pocket the ring, and for a moment it worked. But Irene was a woman with a mission. She wanted that ring on her finger now. _

_ The ring hadn’t even made it halfway deep into Seulgi’s pocket before Irene was breaking away and reaching for it. _

_ In turn, Seulgi quickly pulled it out and hid it again inside her fist. Though she had to raise her hand this time, as high as she could so Irene would not be able to reach it. _

_ “Yah, Seulgi-yah!” Irene whined, stomping her feet. “Give me my ring!” _

_ “No, babe,” Seulgi replied. She stood strong, on the tip of her toes just in case she needed to dash away. _

_ But Irene had never played a fair game, and so she dug her fingers on Seulgi’s side and wiggled them on Seulgi’s most ticklish spots. _

_ It had the latter bawling over. Though before she could snatch the ring away, Seulgi was already darting her hands out and wrapping them around Irene. The fist that was keeping the ring safe rested above the other, effectively locking her girlfriend in an embrace. _

_ “I want to do this right, Joohyun.” Seulgi said. She pressed another kiss to appease her, letting it linger, and then ducked to stare at Irene’s eyes with utmost earnestness. “Please let me do this right.” _

_... _

  
  


Wendy and Eunji’s new place is a humble abode. A cozy, modern two-storey structure—befittingly brightly-lit, both from the abundance of tall glass windows and the multitude of wall and ceiling lights that surround it—with two main rooms and a guest’s that Wendy excitedly drag-waddles Seulgi and Irene to see.

(Though it has been just the master’s bedroom, and the still empty guest room. But Seulgi has a hunch that Wendy is simply skipping the nursery for all the right reasons.)

And then the party’s starting, sanguine and upright, with Wendy’s smile serving as its very life. It’s wide and has her eyes crinkling, warm, watery laughs booming out of her chest as she watches Eunji lead her parents—her wife’s third surprise and whom Wendy hasn’t seen in years—inside the living room and straight to her.

But it all seems to pass rather quickly, just like any other day in Seulgi’s life now. Quick and in a hazy blur, with Irene’s silhouette at the corner of her eyes being the only thing that makes sense in this huge room full of people—half of which she doesn’t know.

By the time things do clear, Seulgi can hear Irene laughing as Wendy croons at the small crowd huddled close. She tries to stop herself from looking, but she has long accepted that even self-preservation is non-existent when it’s the  _ still _ love of her life involved. So she does, tries not to get choked up because Irene is _ ethereal _ ; fails for the very same reason—among the thousand others that Seulgi is struggling real hard not to think about.

She balls both her hands into fists, forcing herself to focus on Wendy who’s  _ glowing _ , radiant and really just plain happily rambling. “Thank you so much everyone for coming. You guys made me and our baby really happy.”

She’s speaking so fast and gesturing so wildly that Eunji can only beam at her in adoration, and stoop down to kiss her cheek. 

“No, I mean it,” Wendy continues. “She won't stop moving.”

She winces at one particularly hard kick. Eunji quickly cups a palm over the offended spot, trying to settle their daughter down. 

“I told you not to eat too much cake,” the taller woman chides gently. “You know what cake does to her.”

“But it’s red velvet, hon. You know what  _ that  _ does to me.”

“Never thought I’d see the day Jung Eunji would be so whipped,” Jennie, Eunji’s partner from the city’s Homicide Division, teases out loud.

Eunji only laughs it off, her eyes never leaving Wendy, who falls right back into listing the people she wants to thank. “Joy and Yeri, thank you for the cute clothes and shoes. She’s so going to rock the hell out of these onesies.”

She pulls her wife closer, curling an arm around her waist to rub at the side Eunji knows now often aches. And Seulgi finds herself swallowing the bitter taste rising at the back of her throat; finds the moment so unbearable she has to look away, because she doesn’t understand how years of being together rescinded into something barely existent in what felt like a blink, and  _ for better or for worse, till death do us part  _ became  _ we ask the court to dissolve our marriage  _ wedged in between unintelligible words scrawled mechanically across four white sheets.

The room suddenly feels warmer than it should be. So warm and lacking of air that Seulgi is unable to fight the urge to up and grab her empty paper cup, quietly pushing her chair away from the makeshift table. Her manners tug a hushed  _ excuse me _ from her dry mouth, footsteps light as her lithe feet ambles her through the kitchen.

She meant to simply get a refill of the fruit punch, but she passes by the stocked dainty bar and feels a pull for something stronger that almost stills her steps. Yet, Seulgi doesn’t want to be  _ that  _ friend, the kind who trades an innocent cup for some whole bottle and inevitably ruin one of the best days of her friends’ life. 

It barely wins over, so she quickly chucks the paper cup to the bin before the smallest thing changes her mind, and jogs out of the back door, down the three flights of stairs that prefaces the entire backyard.

A small swing set stands in the middle of the even grass lawn, at a perfect spot that’s surrounded by flowers in various colors and kinds, and healthy, green bushes that go up to Seulgi’s knees. At the upper right corner is a sturdy tree, bulky enough to support a hefty weight, and short enough to make climbing it quite easy. Eunji has told her once that she’s planning on building a treehouse on it when her daughter turns four—something Seulgi has always wanted to do with her own children  _ someday _ .

She trudges towards one of the swings, still thankful despite of the cold getting more and more unrelenting, that the sun has chosen to be generous today. It eases the harsh, sharp air that swirls in her lungs as she plops down on the yellow plastic seat, tipping her head back to welcome the heat that grazes her face.

It’s a good enough distraction, because  _ someday  _ has turned into  _ never _ , yet Seulgi honestly can’t see herself building a family with anyone else that isn’t Irene. So the treehouse will have to stay inside her head, and she and their children would just climb it in her dreams.

It works for a few beats. The calm breeze works its wonders in the way it kisses the bared parts of Seulgi’s skin, though it can never quite soothe the mess that brews and festers within her. 

(She once thought that Irene brings out the best and the worst parts of her, a fact that stands true until now. But Seulgi has yet to figure out which of  _ her  _ is it nowadays, the worst who wants to ask Irene when did she decide that she was done and that they were no longer worth fighting for; or the best who wants to shoulder all the blame, because, maybe,  _ maybe  _ she pushed Irene to walk away.)

A soft  _ click  _ from the door pulls Seulgi out of her reverie. The squeak of sneakers sliding on the concrete steps follows it, the sound trickling into nothing not long after.

Seulgi digs the toes of her own shoes on the ground to still the swing, and then looks over her shoulder to check. But she freezes halfway through, when Irene’s voice floats from the bottom stair landing. Gentle, and tender, and just exactly how Seulgi has always remembered.

“It looks nice out here, huh? Eunji really outdid herself this time.”

She’s left letting a hand curl around the swing’s chain, fingers gripping it tight. As tight as the  _ yeah  _ that comes out of her mouth. Then, “She’s really going for wife of the year award.”

Irene chuckles softly, and Seulgi  _ feels  _ the sound of it squeeze her heart. “At this rate, I really think she is.”

The smaller woman strides towards the empty swing next to Seulgi, (forever) graceful and beautiful in her ruffled blue dress, even though she’s dwarfed by the thick padded coat cloaking her petite form.

Seulgi can only swallow hard and watch her as she goes around the swing set; can only nod dumbly when Irene tilts her head and asks  _ may I _ , before taking up the vacant space.

The silence falls on them like a blanket, wrapping around their shoulders and pressing in a weight that Seulgi finds quite hard to bear. She contemplates on saying something to break it, but Irene’s breaths are even, so peaceful that it lulls even her own restless mind.

In the end, it’s Irene who finds the courage to; says, “I can’t believe it’s just been four years since those two got together.”

“Feels longer than that, huh,” answers Seulgi. She casts an uncertain, fleeting glance at the other woman, not letting it linger for even a second. Her heart is already yearning more than enough, completely out of her control. She doesn’t need her eyes to add to the things that she no longer has any hold over.

Irene gently nods in response, laughs softly as she adds. “To think that they started out as something… casual.”

Seulgi can’t help the lopsided smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth, remembering fondly how Wendy vehemently insisted that they definitely had no strings attached, despite the way she perked up when someone mentioned Eunji’s name in passing, and how her shy smiles were starting to become Eunji’s and Eunji’s alone.

(The other half of her smile is pinned in its place, downcast and strained, by the truth that they may have had more years on Wendy and Eunji, and yet, here they are.)

“But Wendy was already halfway in love the morning after,” Irene continues, filling in Seulgi’s silence. “I don’t think it has ever been just casual.”

“It never was,” Seulgi easily agrees. She shuffles on her seat, leaning her head against the thumb that’s wrapped around the chain. (And if it’s at Irene’s direction, she pretends not to notice.)

Irene’s eyes close of their accord, her lungs sucking in a lungful like as if she’s savoring the three words. But then, how can she not when Seulgi’s voice—that used to be a constant in her life just like her very presence—feels almost foreign now.

She laces her fingers together above her lap, fiddling with her thumbs as she shifts on her own seat and leans her back lightly against the chain, too, away from Seulgi. It lodges some form of distance in between them that Irene deems healthy. 

(And needed, because she can feel a tremor in her hands that only Seulgi’s warmth can settle, and it’s so, so easy to just reach out and conveniently forget that it’s something she no longer has the right to do. Even though she chose to give up on it no matter how unwillingly; chose to turn her back on it despite how it left a chasm in her stomach that she will never be able to shake away.)

Yet, it also puts Irene in a position where all she can see is Seulgi, and she’s quite sure that fixing her gaze on her while all this longing surges at the tips of her fingers is anything but. Still, she does. Because while Irene may be strong—the  _ strongest _ —there are things that she will never be able to fight. This is one of them.

“They’ll be great parents,” Seulgi continues, completely oblivious to the way she just sent Irene’s heart convulsing all over in the worst of ways. “Total pushovers, but—”

She takes a breath as she catches herself, cuts her own thought off upon realizing that she’s veering towards a rather dangerous territory. And she almost wants to laugh for lack of anything else to do that isn’t bolting up and running away.

Yet, the thing is, Irene agrees. Wholeheartedly so. But she just swallows hard and nods because she can’t find anything else to say other than  _ I still think we’d be the best parents _ , and that’s just…  _ no _ . So she scrambles for a quick thought and instead says the first thing that surfaces, “How are you, Seulgi?”

Seulgi lifts her head, turns to hazard a smile towards Irene that the smaller woman sort of wishes she hasn’t casted. She meant to brush it off with a quick  _ I’m fine _ , but Irene nips at her bottom lip and that stops her, makes her close her mouth again.

And then the corner of Irene’s mouth curls into a smile, shy under Seulgi’s prolonged gaze. Her cheeks dust pink from the cold, and Seulgi thinks she can’t be blamed for losing hold of what happens next. Granted there is no wine that could’ve loosened her tongue, but she’s drunk on Irene’s scent, and Irene’s smile that once belonged to her, latching on onto the parts of her held together by tape and glue. 

“It’s hard,” she finds herself suddenly saying— _ admitting _ ,  _ confessing _ . “Sitting right next to you and pretending you don’t mean the world to me.”

It’s not even angrily. Just completely somber and honest that Irene sort of wishes she shouldn’t have asked. Especially now that Seulgi’s shoulders slump like it has suddenly caved in under some invisible weight—Atlas finally letting go of his hold on the sky—and Irene is left  _ aching  _ with a need to pull her close.

But before she can even get a chance to do something— _ anything _ in response, Seulgi’s already standing and dusting the back of her pants off with shaky fingers. Her eyes gloss over with pain, regret writing itself all over the rest of her already wounded face.

Irene fails to find the courage to ask  _ what  _ part she does regret, for fear of hearing her say  _ everything _ ; and neither is she brave enough to ask Seulgi to stay. She can only watch Seulgi take off in hurried steps, feeling each pound of her heel on the ground against her rib cage; can only stare at the empty space she leaves.

Can only wonder if the last seven minutes even happened at all.

...

  
  


The baby shower officially ends at Wendy’s dinner invite. Irene turns it down as polite as she can, while Seulgi simply makes herself scarce before Wendy can even find her to extend the invitation. 

Irene opts to just go back to Joy and Yeri’s place—she really ought to start looking for her own apartment, but that in itself is  _ a  _ finality that Irene isn’t sure she’s ready to face—feeling every inch and part of her  _ ache _ . Like she’s suddenly scrubbed raw and red, coated in skin-deep burns that will never heal. 

She crawls into her bed feeling entirely weary, but still wide awake despite all the comfort curling up in her favorite gray hoodie brings.

The plaster on her scabbed  _ wounds _ ; long and tattered and worn, threads pulling apart at the hems and the seams. Its cuffs are real loose that it keeps on slipping off her elbows, and its color has long started to fade from being washed one too many times, along with the scent of the person who once owned it.

Yet it’s one of the few things Irene can hold these days without tasting the bitter bile of regret that rears its presence at the back of her throat, one of the few things she can actually look at without seeing the hurt that marred Seulgi’s face  _ that  _ day.

So Irene pulls at the cuffs until the sleeves are stretched down, and if she brings it close to her face for a sniff, she’d say it’s purely out of habit. Though, she isn’t even sure anymore if the subtle smell of spicy perfume and Seulgi’s unique scent is still sticking to the fabric, or if it’s just her memory that’s in the works when she buries her nose on one of its sleeves to take a whiff. 

It only ever happens at times she misses Seulgi most, after all.

...

  
  


It doesn’t really work. If anything, it only intensifies what is supposed to be a dull, throbbing ache. So much so that Irene ends up barging out of what is supposed to be her safe space, and practically throws herself out towards the uncrowded street.

(Irene doesn’t really know if it’s winter dawning that keeps the people inside, or the time of the night. But then again, her mind doesn’t have any particular destination at all either. She figures she’s not in the right headspace to answer the questions swimming inside her head.

_ What am I doing out? Where am I even going? What time is it, even? _

_ What if I made a mistake? _ )

Her feet take her inside the local bar all of her friends frequent, and she’s welcomed by the bass blaring loudly from the speakers, violent and thumping; the floor shaking beneath her feet.

It’s not her kind of music nor scene, but it drowns out all the  _ whys _ and the  _ what ifs _ . And so Irene walks straight to the bar, signalling for a drink that she has no plans on touching. She sits on one of the stools that’s far away from the throngs of overly drunk teenagers, pretending to watch the sea of sweaty bodies duking it out on the dance floor. 

And if her eyes trail at the double doors from time to time, she absolutely isn’t hoping to see a familiar face while chalking it up to  _ fate _ .

.

But the next hour hits and she  _ doesn’t _ . Irene doesn’t really know how to deal with that even more. 

That, maybe, fate had other plans all this time.

.

(And that, maybe, she had a hand in  _ that _ .)

...

  
  


It takes four stout tumblers of whiskey, long after the ice cubes on her untouched first drink has melted and the dark liquid has been watered down, before she’s careening towards the very first step of what she’d later on file under:  _ things she should never have done _ .

The ice cubes haven’t even settled in the tumbler  _ this time _ , the still swirling amber liquid barely washing over it, when Irene snatches the first one off the counter and pours the liquor down on her throat. Pounds the other three straight away without even wincing.

Four glasses—and a fifth she doesn’t get to finish—coupled with  _ I meant every word I said, when I said that I love you I meant that I love you forever  _ that echoes over and over in her head.

The next thing she knows, she’s stumbling inside the bathroom, phone in one hand and the fifth tumbler of whiskey in the other, locking herself inside the last stall.  _ Rings  _ are what becomes her source of music for the next thirty seconds as the bass dies beneath the blood rushing to her ears.

And then comes Seulgi’s voice, thick and raspy with sleep. “ _ Joohyun? _ ” 

Irene’s sure she’s not even half awake, and she finds her lips tugging of their own accord, picturing what Seulgi looks like. 

“ _ Is everything okay _ ?”

It’s not, it’s nowhere even near  _ okay _ , but she doesn’t really know how to tell Seulgi that; doesn’t really know how to tell her that she never meant to hurt her earlier—never meant to hurt her at all.

Doesn’t really know how to admit that maybe she acted rash, maybe they— _ she _ made a mistake.

So she says, “Yes. I just—I guess I just wanted to know if you got back safely.”

Because  _ I love you, how did we get here  _ is a little too much even for her alcohol-addled mind.

“ _ Oh _ .” Is all Seulgi can say. She searches for the right words, but ultimately stops trying because something  _ hurts _ .

Something  _ does _ , every day. But it hurts more at this very moment because she can hear Irene’s voice as if she’s just sleeping right next to her, like she could just turn and she’d find her there, so close and within her reach. Yet, the reality is Seulgi may never ever get to touch her again.

It sits heavily on her chest, carving an Irene-shaped hole in it that leaves the edges raw and throbbing.

“God, this was a bad idea,” Irene hisses, more to herself than anything. She puts the glass down on top of the tiled sill, trading it with running trembling fingers through her hair. “A very bad idea.”

Her own chest aches, and the sound of Seulgi’s breaths that waft from the other line is making her dizzier more than downing her first ever whiskey. “I should go,” she rasps, the liquor a gravel in her voice; barely hears the faint  _ I know  _ that Seulgi answers her with before the line goes quiet and they’re left listening to each other breathing.

Irene closes her eyes. It’s really to try and stop the room from starting to spin, but her mind wanders into something that she’s not even sure is worth deluding herself into thinking: that this is like some long distance  _ thing _ —that she’s away for some medical conference, and she calls her wife five minutes before it starts because she misses her so bad, and now she’s just waiting for her to fall back to sleep.

Because months ago, they were doing exactly that. Months ago, they were going to make it. Despite the two am fights, the  _ worst  _ of  _ for better or worse _ where everything was slipping out of their hands, they were going to make it.

“ _ But don’t hang up, please, _ ” Seulgi scrambles to say. Irene can  _ hear  _ her shake her head. She spends a few good beats in silence, but her breaths are deep and heavy, as if there’s water in her lungs that has her drowning.

And then she whispers a stuttered mess of her thoughts, never quite completing it, “ _ I know—I don’t—I mi—I… _ ” 

“Oh,  _ Seul, _ ” Irene says just as quietly. Her hand flexes with a desperate  _ want  _ to touch Seulgi, to comfort her in all the ways she knows how. But Seulgi  _ isn’t  _ here, and Irene still thinks she has long lost the right to do that.

In the end, it’s the alcohol she reaches out to, tipping her head back to down the glass and blink the unshed tears away.

But the essence loosens her tongue, and the next thing Irene knows, she’s dropping her weight against the hard wall as she slurs over her phone, and more tears are filling her vision. “Seulgi, tell me how to stop thinking about you.”

Her lashes flutter swiftly, catching droplets and flicking them away. Irene has to press the back of her free hand against her eyes to get them to stop, but it leaves her mouth completely open, letting unrestrained words suddenly fly out. “Because I can’t, and I don’t know how. I miss you. I miss you so much that I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“ _ Hyun-ah— _ ”

Irene presses her hand harder, screws her eyes shut as tight as the grip the endearment curls around her heart. “Don’t call me that. Please don’t call me that,” she pleads, and the crack in her tone when she continues makes Seulgi’s breath hitch. “Or I might do something really stupid.”

“ _ Joohyun, I... _ ” Seulgi starts to say, but pauses when she feels her own throat closing up on her. And she has to swallow the knot that has taken its space just so she can breathe again. But the words stuck behind also escape, and Seulgi is unable to catch them. “ _ I don’t know how. I don’t even know how to be alone anymore. _ ”

It isn’t really the answer Irene is expecting to get, though frankly, she’s not really sure what she’s hoping to hear either. If anything, she was so sure she’d be the last person Seulgi would think about—and the very first person she’d try to forget—after all the pain and the hurt she caused.

And Irene doesn’t know what to say about that, too, that isn’t in any way wanting to take  _ it  _ back—their separation back. So she tells Seulgi, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

She looks down on the floor, burying her lips underneath her hoodie. But her choked sob breaks away from her restraints, tugging hard on Seulgi’s heartstrings. “ _ God _ , I don’t even know why I called.”

Seulgi never liked it when Irene cried, and absolutely hates it when she knows she’s the cause. Her line grows silent again, save for the  _ creaking  _ Irene hears that signals Seulgi moving. There’s a ruffling of sheets that follow, and the brush of Seulgi’s feet against the carpet.

(And that’s how Irene remembers that Seulgi is somewhere in their— _ her _ living room, still unable to sleep on the bed they once shared.

_ God _ , what are they doing?)

And then, it’s just  _ static _ . And the mix of anxiety and relief she’s suddenly whelmed with: relieved that Seulgi hasn’t dropped the call, anxious when Seulgi’s voice fills her ears and asks, “ _ Where are you? _ ” 

“I… Seulgi…”

“ _ Are you at Kwon’s _ ?”

Irene opens her mouth to speak, to tell her  _ no _ despite actually being here, but she hears the telltale croak of the closet door, the one with the loose hinge they never got to fix, and that brings about another bout of  _ what ifs  _ that floods her with uncertainty. She’s thrown off long enough for Seulgi to take her silence as a confirmation.

There’s more rustling from Seulgi’s side, the sound of clothes sliding against skin, and it’s really pretty much useless to ask, but still, she does. “Seulgi what are you doing?”

A soft slam prefaces Seulgi’s voice, then, “ _ Something really, really stupid _ .”

“Seul, don’t,” Irene says, despite the hope that flutters wildly in her chest. She tries to tamp it down, because  _ they shouldn’t be doing this _ , but it’s traitorous, treacherous much like her heart.

“ _ I can’t let you go home drunk, Joohyun _ .” Seulgi sighs, deep.

Irene wants to say,  _ but I’m not drunk _ .

Wants to say,  _ you don’t have to, not anymore _ .

But her resolve has been broken into pieces she can’t pick and piece together, and the walls she’s spent the past months building have crumbled along with it, weakened by four glasses and the unchanged way Seulgi’s voice wraps around her name.

And all that’s left to say is, “Okay.”

…

  
  


Irene is nowhere near drunk when she asks Seulgi to spend the night, but she pretends that she is.

Pretends that it’s the alcohol working when she pulls Seulgi to lie down next to her on this tiny bed, and she’s dizzy not because of Seulgi’s warmth and her scent that’s filling her head.

Pretends that she’s asleep when Seulgi wakes up in the middle of the night and slides out of the bed, away from Irene’s weak hold.

Pretends that the sound of her bedroom door closing doesn’t press a hefty weight on her chest, and the blurry sight of Seulgi’s back walking away from her is just from the remnants of sleep that she hasn’t rubbed away.

While Seulgi spends the next few weeks trying to pretend that the call didn’t happen. 

It seems like it’s the only thing they both have gotten good at, after all. Pretending.


	3. three: and you, my love, are gone

_this is the way you left me: no hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending; this is the way that we love, like it’s forever, then live the rest of our life, but not together_

_\- happy ending, mika_

_Pattaya sure had changed a lot since she’d last been here. Seulgi didn’t really remember much about the places she and her family had visited, but she wouldn’t forget the massive tiger she once had posed for a photograph with once when she was twelve._

_She was twice the age now, but the tiger didn’t even seem to have aged a day. Its fur were still as thick as it were the last time she had run her hand through it, its hinds and its paws just as huge; its roars just as fierce. The only evidence that it had been living for longer than Seulgi’s entire existence was the grays that grew at the tips of its whiskers._

_And Seulgi certainly did not remember any petite woman standing a few good feet away from the tiger and her back when she was twelve, looking so terrified and so pale that for a second, Seulgi honestly thought of backing out._

_She had turned twenty four today, and there was one now, keenly watching her despite the wild fear swimming in her wide doe eyes._

_“Seulgi-yah,” Irene had called, visibly flinching when the tiger yawned. She didn’t really know what it was about the huge creature that scared her most: its sharp fangs that extended past its lips, or its mere size that could trample Seulgi if the woman so much as accidentally plucked a single fur._

_She paled even more at that passing thought._

_“Seulgi-yah!”_

_“Hmmm?” Seulgi hummed, tilting her head in the same direction that the tiger—Tatta, as its keeper had told them—shifted its bigger one at._

_For a second, Irene was admittedly amazed by the uncanny resemblance, with Seulgi’s eyes shaped very much like Tatta’s. There was a reason why her girlfriend had been dubbed tiger on more than one occasion after all._

_But the feeling was incredibly short lived, because Tatta suddenly shook his head just as Seulgi’s hand was sliding upwards to sneak a few pats and scratches at the back of his ear, and Irene swore she had never felt her heart slam that hard against her rib cage. “Baby, be careful!”_

_Seulgi, though, only looked at her and crinkled her nose, hoping that the way her cheeks scrunched would wipe the distress that had dawned on Irene’s features. “It’s okay, Hyun-ah,” she even added. But the creases on Irene’s forehead never eased, only growing even deeper. “He’s chained, see?”_

_She fingered the thick chain to prove her point, and yet, still, Irene failed to see where “okay” was, especially when the tiger let out a soft mewl that rang like a roar in Irene’s ears. It took everything she had, coupled with numb feet, to not snatch Seulgi back and drag her far, far away from him._

_Though her hands had darted out, reaching for anyone closest to her as Tatta’s mouth opened for another yawn before snapping shut, the sound of sharp teeth grinding against each other being the only thing she could hear. But her fingers could only catch the hem of Wendy’s sleeve, as Wendy’s curiosity had long won over and had pushed the other woman to take a step closer towards the marbled platform Tatta was lazily sprawled at._

_There was just something incredibly majestic about him that drew Wendy in, as he stretched his front paws and started purring. Like he was not a beast right at that moment, simply a giant, striped, white cat with an affinity for sleep; one that she would very much like to pet._

_Irene’s head whipped at her side, her own eyes quickly meeting Eunji’s at a glance, as if she was trying to find someone who must also be as anxious as she was. But Eunji just returned her attention to Wendy the next second and watched her closely. She may not have moved from where she was rooted at, letting Wendy take the lead, but she still made sure that she was within arm’s reach._

_(It was second nature to her now, to never let Wendy stray far away from her while they were in the presence of anything she deemed as a threat, borne from the dark images she had no choice but to look at; some of them permanently imprinted behind her lids, grim and foreboding when she closed her eyes.)_

_Perhaps, the only thing that was keeping Irene from completely sweeping everyone away was the fact that Yeri was feeling the exact opposite that Seulgi and Wendy were. Her sister had opted to be left standing behind the three of them, rigid and as still as the statue that greeted them by the entrance. She was tucked under Joy’s arm, almost frozen as they eyed the animal with varying levels of interest. Yeri had none at all; she just really wanted to be done with it and leave. But Joy seemed intrigued, even more so after Seulgi had traded places with Wendy, and the smaller woman was now the one who was petting Tatta._

_(Granted Wendy’s movements were stiff. But Joy thought he looked really soft and really cute as he tried to fight off sleep._

_Maybe she could make Yeri see him that way too.)_

_“Park Sooyoung, I swear to everything that is holy,” Yeri warned as if she had read Joy’s mind. “If you take so much as one step...”_

_Joy ducked down to meet her eyes and smiled. But it was all teeth, all too sweet for her to mean it. “It didn’t even cross my mind.”_

_Though Seulgi had heard it clearly. She twisted around to look at Joy, while the younger woman met her gaze over Yeri’s head, eyes already narrowed in stark warning._

_But it was Seulgi’s birthday, and nothing was going to stop her from doing everything she wanted. So she shot Joy an impish smirk, the corner of her lips curling upward sharply; raised a closed fist that stood upright, and waved it in the air as if she was throwing out a firm, long whip._

_(Like she had room to talk, really, Joy couldn’t help but gripe, with the way Irene was currently fussing over her and checking for the littlest mark Tatta could’ve left on her skin.)_

_Yet, in the end, Joy could only sneakily flip Seulgi off._

...

  
  


_Ways away from the animal farm was the town’s lake park. But it wasn’t the usual blue that Seulgi had always imagined a body of water would be. In fact it was almost green, and it flowed under the wooden houses that stood above it. Its waves were simply ripples, brought about by the specks of dust that dropped from under the wooden bridges connecting each house, whenever throngs of people passed them through._

_In each of the lake’s ends stood two towers linked by multiple steel cables as thick as Seulgi’s arm—like bookends in a colossal library that floated above the water. There were various trolleys slip and sliding on each cable, sometimes carrying an eager teen or two; most times not._

_The south tower bore a broad signboard that was sticking out in the middle of its second platform’s ceiling and the third’s floor. It was in Thai, but none of them really needed to know how to read it to figure out what exactly the towers were there for._

_It took merely five seconds of gazing up on the three floors and their steep stairs for Wendy to decide that she was only going to go through it once. Yeri didn’t even bother to look and proceeded to grab Joy by her wrist, dragging her back down to the bottom platform where their friends would last land._

_Irene would’ve easily followed her sister, but Seulgi regarded the towers with eager excitement dancing in her eyes. Then, she beamed at Irene, and Irene found herself nodding despite the dread that was already creeping up on her chest._

_Seulgi didn’t even have to ask._

...

  
  


_(She had yet to break the promise she made to Seulgi’s dad, that one day they watched the Christmas snow fall on the glass windows, while lying on the couch that was pressed against the wall of Seulgi’s childhood home._

_It wasn’t the first time Irene had met Seulgi’s parents. But it was the first time Seulgi’s dad had sat her down by the swing set that used to be Seulgi’s most favorite place in the world; asked her if she had any plans for the future, in such a parental tone that aired out his unspoken question of what lay ahead for his only daughter and her, five to ten years from now._

_She was honestly at a loss, because she and Seulgi hadn’t even talked about moving in together, despite the loose white shirts and the multitude of black sweatpants that had taken over half of her closet; and the tangerine toothbrush that hung right next to hers in the fancy holder both she and Seulgi had bought, now sticking out of the corner of her bathroom wall like it had always belonged there._

_In the end, all Irene could tell him was, “All I really want to do is to make her smile for the rest of my life.”_

_Irene had no intention of backing down on her word. Granted, Seulgi would never force her to do anything that made her uncomfortable, but Irene loved Seulgi enough to be willing to try.)_

...

  
  


_So here she was, barely suppressing a nervous shiver as the tall, scrawny zip line operator helped her strap the harness in securely. He tugged at the adjustable part, pulling at the black strap carefully so it wouldn’t hang loose on her torso._

_Her woven sun hat was traded for the black protective helmet they were told to wear, while the air in her lungs stayed as it was, until she had to breathe and it dissipated into one skittish breath._

_Irene found herself sucking another lungful, anxiousness swirling in her chest as she reached for Seulgi’s hand. She laced their fingers together, and then took the first stair step towards another brand new moment she admittedly also couldn’t wait to add to their growing list of memories._

_Seulgi let out a soft laugh, feeling the shudder that rolled off of Irene’s shoulders. Irene playfully hip checked her in response, but Seulgi only steadied her with a palm splayed on the small of her back afterwards._

_The smallest bit of contact just to let Irene know that she was not alone in this, because she knew that Irene was deathly afraid of heights, and yet she was willing to overcome that just so Seulgi could do this with her._

...

  
  


_Wendy had gone first, playing off her nervousness with cheeky finger guns she candidly shot at Eunji’s direction. She even stretched her hands out and formed a heart above her head while shouting Eunji’s name. “I love you, Jung Eunji!”_

_While the taller woman could only groan as she pressed a palm on her flustered face. “Oh my God.”_

_Seulgi chuckled at that, but Irene was too busy clinging onto her waist—as they both watched Wendy bustle down to the other side—to find any of it amusing._

_A thrilled Eunji followed her girlfriend right after. Zip lining was not really part of her training back at the academy, but she had rappelled down enough flat boards and low mountain walls to not feel an ounce of fear. She even welcomed the albeit slow speed with outstretched feet and both her arms thrown up in the air._

_And then, it was Irene’s turn. The operators were more than glad to wait for her to step up at the edge, though all it ever took to pry herself away from the safety of Seulgi’s arms were three deep breaths and a sweet, needy kiss._

_(The fact that the first line would be building gradual speed since it was lower had a lot to do with it too, but no one had to know that.)_

_It went as smooth as Irene had been hoping. She was even able to wave at Seulgi halfway through, and at Yeri and Joy who were watching her from their spot. She landed on the wooden floor with a light thud, straight into Wendy’s arms who was waiting rather attentively._

_Seulgi was the last to go. And as Irene watched her zip down towards their direction with a genuine, elevated smile on her face, she could no longer remember what she had been so scared of._

.

_Heights. It was heights._

_Both Wendy and Eunji had already joined Joy and Yeri at the other tower’s bottom platform, leaving Seulgi and Irene at the topmost, ready to slide down at any given moment._

_It was significantly different from the first one they had gone through. It was steeper, faster, and Irene was certain she’d be clinging onto the rope for her dear life._

_All the courage she had managed to muster just a little while ago dissipated into a thin shroud of air, rushing out of her system so quickly it turned her limbs into jelly._

_But she didn’t fall. How could she? When Seulgi was right there behind her, never letting it happen._

_“Seulgi-yah, it’s too high,” Irene found herself whimpering, fingers latching onto the shirt sleeve of the arm she was wrapped around in._

_“Hey,” Seulgi shushed her gently, and then pressed a kiss at that spot on her forehead that the helmet didn’t cover. “You don’t have to do it, okay?”_

_“I-I don’t?”_

_Seulgi nodded. “I really think you can, but you don’t have to.”_

_“You won’t be mad?”_

_“Why would I even be? You’re scared of heights but you still agreed to do it the first time.”_

_“You’re sure?”_

_“Absolutely,” she assured the smaller woman, kissing her again when she felt Irene’s shiver underneath her own shirt. “You won’t mind if I still go, though?”_

_Irene shook her head once as she mumbled a soft just be careful, baby, the waver in her voice as feeble as her trembling knees. She peeled herself away from Seulgi and walked towards where the operators were to ask them to take the safety gear off. But as she was about lift the helmet off her head, Wendy’s voice echoed from somewhere at the bottom platform._

_“Irene-unnie! You can do it, Irene-unnie!”_

_Following it was Yeri’s shrill shriek that bounced from the hands cupped on both sides of her mouth and into the air. “Unnie! Appa said you can do it! Don’t let him down!”_

_She glanced back at Seulgi, who only grinned at her, the crinkle in her eyes filled with nothing but encouragement. Slowly, Irene felt the dread ebb away as their voices mixed, and when Joy and Eunji finally joined in, she made her decision._

_“I’m doing it.”_

…

  
  


_Seulgi could tell by the determined clench of Irene’s jaw that she meant it. She’d conquer a fear she had been weakened by for the most of her life, because the people most dear to her believed that she could._

_Her chest swelled with pride and affection that she swore reached just a whole new level. Irene had been going out of her way since they first arrived, making sure that Seulgi would get everything that she wanted._

_Maybe even before that. Irene was the one who planned the surprise trip, the one who brought along their friends just because she knew Seulgi would want to be with them on such a special day._

_Her girlfriend even cooked a fancy dinner a week ago, and surprised her with a visit from her parents._

_Seulgi really couldn’t ask for anything more._

.

_Or maybe, she could._

_She could ask her for one thing more. The last piece that will complete the intricate puzzle that was her life._

.

_Seulgi helped Irene as she stepped up at the edge, chuckling at the feeble “fighting” that came from the other woman._

_She could hear the operator’s shrill voice as he started counting backwards from three, though Seulgi suspected that Irene could barely make it out above the blood rushing in her ears._

_Still, Seulgi hoped Irene would hear hers._

...

  
  


_At one, things happened quickly and in slow motion all at once._

_Irene screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable push that would launch her down the line. Her heart was pounding, and she could hear the air hissing out of her mouth. Her friends were still cheering from down below._

_And yet, despite everything, she heard Seulgi’s voice above all, Seulgi’s question ringing out like bells on a Sunday morning, loud and clear._

_“Hyun-ah, marry me?”_

.

_Her vision was filled with Seulgi’s smiling eyes one second, but her form was fading the next, and that was when Irene realized that she was careening down the line’s rope, hanging in midair with nothing but the buzz the trolley made as it slid against the thick cord being her only company._

_Irene then gathered all the air that she could, filling her chest before letting out a scream that rang in the air and echoed all over the place._

_“I hate you, Kang Seulgi!”_

...

  
  


_Seulgi came down just a few seconds after. She was in a silly Superman pose that would have amused Irene thoroughly if she had not been so thrown off._

_The operators made quick work of removing Seulgi’s harness. In turn, she bowed to them in gratitude, before wheeling around to face Irene. She was admittedly expecting the hard glare she was welcomed with after the stunt she had just pulled, yet, still, Seulgi did not flinch away nor buckle under Irene’s sharp gaze. She met it with eyes of her own, matched Irene’s tenacity with the fondest stares—ones that only could reflect what Seulgi was now truly feeling._

_They stood there like quiet, warring polar ends, and yet, everyone around them could sense the strong pull of them together. It snapped taut like the firmest elastic, hurling them both back in each other’s orbits._

_In the end, it was Yeri who first broke the silence; Yeri who had plucked the courage to ask. “Seulgi-unnie, what dumb thing did you do now?”_

_Wendy, too, had turned quiet, retreating to curious, observing eyes. She stopped muttering that weird word she was shouting while Irene was sliding down._

_(Eunji wasn't even sure if such a word truly did exist; “ujjujjujju" was not part of her dictionary._

_But Wendy looked adorable while shouting it repeatedly, and she made these weird pouty faces that made Eunji want to kiss her._

_God, she was so in love with a dork.)_

_“Did you push her off the tower?” Joy chimed in with a snicker._

_Seulgi, though, didn’t answer any of them. Instead, she continued to stare at Irene, playfully clutching at her shirt she had now bunched over her chest. Then, she spoke. “I ask you to marry me and you tell me you hate me.” She jutted her bottom lip out, knowing perfectly well how weak Irene would go for it._

_It was Joy’s gasp that echoed this time, louder than the rest of their friends. But Irene had remained stiff, for once not jumping in surprise, with her hands folding above her chest as her only movement._

_“Seulgi, what are you playing at?!”_

_“Nothing!” Seulgi answered truthfully. “It's a serious question, Joohyun.”_

_A part of Irene hadn’t quite caught up yet—was still suspended up in the air and hadn’t exactly slid back down—and so she was finding it quite hard to digest how serious Seulgi was (or wasn’t). “How do you expect me to answer that when I’m busy trying not to fall into my death?!”_

_It felt like a tennis match that their friends were keenly watching, but Irene was still reeling from it all that she couldn’t really move. While Seulgi could only try to suppress a chuckle, though it was too late and it bubbled up and out of her throat through a snort._

_She quickly cleared her throat when it looked like Irene was not one bit amused. Then, with a sigh, she yielded, fishing something from the hidden pocket of her jeans before getting down on one knee._

_Wendy had been the first one to realize what was actually happening. Ever the firm believer of happy endings, she had laced her fingers together, pressing them against her lips so as not to coo at the sight. And then she rested her weight against Eunji’s taller form, which the latter welcomed easily, Eunji’s arm winding around Wendy’s shoulders as she pulled her closer._

_Yeri, for her part, wanted to gag at how incredibly cheesy everything was. But her sister was on the verge of tears, and she looked incredibly happy despite the scowl she was fighting to keep, that Yeri couldn’t find the heart to ruin it._

_“Bae Joohyun,” Seulgi had started to say, then, “Light of my life, fire of my loins—"_

_“Seulgi!” Irene yelled, foot stomping against the wooden floor. Her voice was constricted with tears and she was finding it a little hard to breathe, but, God, this was really happening._

_“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Seulgi said. She had let out a teasing laugh, but her heart had never been this full, and it was what compelled her to speak again. “Bae Joo Hyun, will you be my sunlight for the rest of our lives?”_

…

  
  


_Irene wanted to ask Seulgi why she couldn’t ask her like any other normal person. But then again, they were anything but normal._

_(And the ring that Seulgi had held in front of her—the very same one she had seen before but would never stop taking all her breaths away every time—definitely served as a very good distraction.)_

_They were anything but normal, and so she said—sputtered, even, “I hate you. I hate you so much.”_

_But Seulgi did not take offense. Not when Irene’s voice was thick and full of everything Seulgi knew she was feeling for her, and her eyes were as watery and as soft as her smile. And the fists that had reached out and crumpled Seulgi’s shirt weren’t pushing her away; they were pulling her impossibly closer the moment she stood up and crossed that one step separating her and the love of her life._

_“I know,” Seulgi agreed, chuckling as she planted the softest kiss on Irene’s forehead that lingered. “Sometimes I hate me too.”_

_Her laughter only grew when Irene masked the warmth suddenly rising at back of her throat with an unintelligible noise, one she hid muffled in the crook of Seulgi’s neck; matched it with a hand that hit Seulgi in the gentlest of ways._

_Seulgi only wrapped her arms around Irene in turn, tucking her under her chin to keep her close as she said, “But I love you. I don’t think I’ll love anyone else as much as I do. And I don’t know if I am the love of your life, but, Joohyun, you are the love of mine.”_

…

  
  


_At Irene’s you idiot, of course you are; you are mine, too, Seulgi felt the last piece of her slot itself in its place._

_And at Irene’s yes, it will always be yes, she was complete._

…

  
  


Autumn settles in completely without Seulgi noticing, the cold now more a constant companion these days than even her own friends. Or her own self, lost somewhere in between what was _then_ and what is _now_.

But she welcomes it like a loved one coming home, lets it linger inside her apartment as if she’d saved it a place; though she leaves her muddy boots and the dried, withering leaves by the door.

(Irene has always told her to. And there are habits Seulgi is simply unable to break.)

The air is unforgiving, the sky dreary and dark. Yet, it’s bright at the same time, _joyous_ even, as Seulgi meets Son-Jung So Mi for the very first time.

She wasn’t there at the brunt of it, as Eunji was only able to call her once Wendy had been rolled into the delivery suite, leaving Eunji alone, swimming in her own nerves and the kind of worry that will always surface when Wendy is involved.

Seulgi is the stumbling force that pulls Eunji out of her pacing, her grimy shoes slipping against the smooth, pristine, tiled floor as she makes an abrupt stop upon spotting her. It’s the squeak that makes Eunji whip around, though it’s the chorus of _I’m here, I’m here_ Seulgi greets her with that eases the churning feeling that claws at the pit of her stomach.

Her hair is wild from the wind that has been howling all over and hounding the city for three days now, as wild as the worry stewing in her widened eyes; the same exact look that Eunji _knows_ has made home in her own.

“Is she close?” Seulgi asks in between harried pants. She unhooks the emergency bag Eunji and Wendy have insisted leaving at her place—in every place they frequent, really; Wendy’s idea that Eunji wholeheartedly supported, because she will never take any chances on her wife and their daughter—handing it to the other woman.

Eunji mumbles a soft _thank you_ as she accepts the bag, setting it on the empty couch behind them, right next to another identical black bag that she has retrieved from the trunk of her car. “Six centimeters.”

Seulgi nods knowingly, _knows_ that they may still have a long way to go. She remembers seeing that small bit of fact on some website, that one night sleep evaded her in all its ways and she tapped on just about everything, until the videos led her to _what to expect when you’re expecting_ and she just couldn’t seem to stop.

But she doesn’t tell Eunji that. Instead, she buries it at the back of her mind, in that space where things she’d never have the heart to think of again are tightly locked, because Eunji looks deathly afraid despite the brave face she’s putting on. 

And she has been nothing but the kind of solid support Seulgi has never really admitted to needing, so she folds her own pain into tiny paper cranes she used to do before when she was younger—her small act of returning the gesture—and says, “It’s going to be okay. They’re going to be okay.”

Eunji’s answering nod is stiff from the anxiety she feels like she’s about to spew out. She can only rub a shaky hand on her weary face, running trembling fingers through her hair that has been ruffled by sleep. She has faced dangerous masterminds in all her years in the force, has been shot at, sustained a flesh wound, and carried a bullet that embedded itself on her shoulder for over a year like some trophy in the form of a raised scar. 

But all those moments fail to match the kind of crippling fear that’s now freezing her veins, turning her blood into ice ever since Wendy roused her up from her sleep and squeezed her arm tight as the first of her contractions hits.

She hasn’t even had enough presence of mind to realize that her shoes are actually mismatched. And Seulgi takes that as the perfect chance to break through the thick air of unease that’s beginning to smother them both.

“Labor is really something, huh?” She quips, shooting Eunji a teasing grin as she makes a show of eyeing the other woman’s shoes: half of a black and orange pair of running shoes, and half of a black sneaker. “I’ve heard the horror stories but...”

Seulgi finishes it off with a whistle, which quickly morphs into a chuckle upon hearing Eunji’s answering groan. The faded academy hoodie she has donned on—the first thing she has grabbed in between blindly running around their dark bedroom and trying to help her wife scoot out of their bed—and the gray sweatpants it’s paired with (that she thankfully has worn to sleep) do nothing but prove Seulgi’s point.

“You’re one to talk,” Eunji tries to fight back, albeit weakly. She’s still much too distracted by the movements she can see past the small, oval viewing glass of the delivery suite’s door. And it’s probably a testament of how disconcerted she is, when she mindlessly just up and says, “I bet if it were you, you’d be worse.”

The teasing grin on Seulgi’s face falls right away, her eyes misting over just as quickly. She’d like to think it’s because of the scarcity of sleep she’s plagued with these days, mixed with being woken up in the middle of the night by a frantic Eunji yelling in her ear, that makes her vision blur.

She would very much like to think it’s because of _that_ , and not her regrets suddenly surfacing and sticking out of the spaces she has wedged them in between; right next to the parts of her that Irene still fills.

( _Everywhere_.)

Though, Seulgi still agrees with a strained _yeah_ and a small nod of her head, amidst her heart dropping from its place and down to her feet, suddenly heavy with all the unspoken _what ifs_ and _what will never bes_. “Yeah, I think so too.”

But Eunji must have felt her heart pulse beneath and _break_ , right there, on the hospital floor. Must have heard it in the way she has spoken, all thick and gravelly, as if whatever is left of the broken parts is lodged in Seulgi’s throat. 

Her head whips around, the apology already written all over her face and in the heavy dip of her brows even before she speaks. And when she does, it’s a stuttered mess of her thoughts. “Oh God, Seul—I—I didn’t—”

Seulgi feigns a smile, all teeth and more for Eunji’s sake than anything.

(It’s daunting, how faking one seems to get easier and easier as the days go. Like she’s used to it. Like she does it all the time now.

Like it’s all she ever sees doing for the rest of her life.)

It really won’t do her friend any good if her very own baggage adds on top of the things Eunji’s already toiling herself over for, _this_ she knows. Both she and Wendy deserve not to walk on any eggshells around her this day. It’s their day after all, and it should be spent on welcoming their daughter and doting on her.

Seulgi figures she at least owes them that.

...

  
  


Somi is _beautiful_. A quiet bundle of dark brown hair and hushed coos; six pounds, eleven ounces and twenty one inches long.

She’s Wendy through and through, from the rise of her cheeks down to the point of her chin. She has the fairness of Wendy’s skin, evident in the fading blotches of red that had spread when she first broke into a cry, and the purse of Wendy’s lips. But she takes to Eunji like a cub would to its birth mother, curling in on her chest when a completely mesmerized Eunji gently shushes her and lifts her up to press the lightest kiss on her forehead.

Seulgi can only watch, feeling her own heart swell at the absolute elation on her friends’ faces. Wendy still looks spent from it all, but Eunji is quick to offer her support, letting her wife lean on her taller form perched by the edge, as they sit on the bed and marvel at their tiny miracle.

She can’t help but capture the moment, though she’s resolved on just giving the picture to Eunji later on, when everything has calmed down and they’re able to spare a second to breathe. It still feels like a whirlwind after all, despite her not being in the eye of it and mainly just standing by. If she’s already both emotionally and physically exhausted, she knows it’s ten folds for both Wendy and Eunji.

She’s just two strides away from stepping out of Wendy’s room completely when the other woman senses her movement, and then seemingly remembers her presence. “Seulgi,” Wendy rasps, tired and still aching. Her hands can barely lift up from Eunji’s thigh that she has rested them on, though, still, she manages to beckon at Seulgi. “Come meet your goddaughter.”

Seulgi nods slowly, but acquiesces right away. She stumbles her way through towards the bed, feeling like some dumb sheep floating in the air while walking to the foot of Wendy’s bed; still feels as such as she watches Eunji stand up and round the bed to meet her halfway, coaching her gently to sit at the nearby chair.

The taller woman has probably noticed how much she’s shaking from the idea of holding a newborn, and Eunji being _Eunji_ , she finds a way around it, telling Seulgi, “It’s okay. I’ll guide you through it.”

Seulgi all but collapses in the chair, her knees balking from all the uncertainty. But Eunji doesn’t give her room to start thinking twice, and bends down to lay Somi in her arms, folded in the exact same way Eunji has told her to.

Then, there’s this light weight in Seulgi’s stiff arms, wrapped in the softest blanket that brushes against Seulgi’s skin. And as Somi fusses, Seulgi finds herself settling a palm over the tiniest chest to calm her down, unable to help but wonder how someone so small can fill spaces in her that she never even knew existed.

Her voice is in ten different levels of gentleness and awe when she speaks, afraid to jostle the baby in the slightest. “Hey there, sweet girl.”

Somi moves her head, as if acknowledging the compliment, rubs her very own fist on her cheek before turning to the side, pressing against Seulgi and seeking more of her warmth.

“I think she likes me,” Seulgi whispers in more awe. She can’t help but look up at Eunji, grinning at her as if it’s an accomplishment she never dreamed of achieving. “Right?”

“She does,” the other woman confirms. She makes sure to keep the curve of her lips up, seeing the ghosts that cloud Seulgi’s eyes drift out and settle in on the corners of her smile, trying to weigh it down. “She really does.”

Seulgi looks back down at the bundle in her arms, stoops carefully and rests her nose at the soft tuft of Somi’s hair. She breathes in, filling her lungs with her goddaughter’s scent so she doesn’t drown. Then, “She’s so beautiful.”

“Isn’t she?” Eunji agrees, now unable to take her wet, glimmering eyes off of her daughter. “I can’t believe we made her.”

…

  
  


In the spur of the moment—Seulgi would reason later on, even though it’s not; even though it’s a habit; even though after all this time, it’s still the same person that sits at the forefront of her mind—Seulgi fishes her phone out of her pocket with one hand, with the utmost care and only after making sure a hundred more times that Somi is indeed tucked snugly in her arm, before tapping speed dial one.

She’s studying Somi’s face when the call gets picked up, her eyes tracing the small of her goddaughter’s nose, and the tiny purse Somi’s lips make as she stretches once more, just as the well-missed voice rings in her ear. “ _Seulgi?_ ”

It takes her a good long second before she can reply, her everything just seemingly tied to Somi’s existence right at this moment, and her barely-there weight in Seulgi’s arms being the anchor that’s keeping her from floating away. It all shows when she speaks, her tone still laced with the good kind of disbelief that’s no more than a whisper, too afraid to rouse the baby from her sleep. “Joohyun!”

“ _Hey,_ ” she hears Irene answer, rather unsurely. Half of Seulgi’s mind thinks that Irene doesn’t really know what to make of the clear elation that laces her tone. But Seulgi is surprised herself, because it’s honestly the first time she’s heard it in months. Not since that night Irene deemed they were unfixable. “ _Is something wrong?_ ”

“No, no!” Seulgi continues to speak in the same tone of voice; shushes gently when the shake of her head jostles Somi awake. She waits for the little one to settle back down before speaking again. “Everything’s fine. More than fine, actually.” She can’t help the grin that takes over her face at the tiny sound Somi makes, then, “Somi’s here, Hyun. She’s finally here.”

“ _R-really?_ ”

Her answering nod is spirited, even though Irene can’t see; can’t help but marvel for the umpteenth time. “She looks so beautiful, Hyun-ah.” And it only grows at the softest sneeze she has ever heard when Somi’s nose gets tickled by her blanket. “Oh gosh Joohyun, you gotta come and see her.”

“ _I…_ ”

“I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

…

  
  


(Much, much later on, when everything has settled down and what she had just done has sunk in, she’d wonder if there would ever come a time that Irene would no longer run in her veins.

It feels like the answer is _no_ , and Seulgi doesn’t really know what to feel about that.)

…

  
  


Irene’s just rounding the corner when her phone blares to life and rings, the buzzing in the left pocket of her white coat almost making her jump out of her skin.

Though, she already knows who it is before she can even chance a glance at the screen, because the ringtone she’d set for Seulgi has been the same ever since they got together, and that hasn’t changed.

(Irene refuses to think _why_.)

Still, she finds herself just looking at her screen for the longest second, debating whether or not to tap on the green button. 

(And if there’s a stab that she feels at the sight of Seulgi’s smiling face looking back at her, she pretends it doesn’t sting.)

But it’s _Seulgi_ , the one person in her life that Irene can’t find the strength to stay away from. It’s as if there’s this invisible thread that’s tying her to the other woman, one that snaps taut at the mere mention of Seulgi’s name in passing and slings her right back to where she started.

So Irene swipes at the screen to answer the call. And at the sound of Seulgi’s voice that greets her, she finds her fingers digging against the soft fur of the stuffed bunny in her hands, clutching at it tightly at the way Seulgi says her name.

( _That_ , too, never changed.)

Her grip tightens the longer their conversation goes. If Irene can even call it one, when Seulgi’s rambling on the other line while she’s here, simply listening, absorbing Seulgi’s words like she’d never get another chance to, and only ever answering when she’s prompted.

Then, Seulgi tells her to come see Somi soon, which already is in her mind first thing since she has started her shift and sees Wendy’s name scribbled down their Procedures whiteboard. But Irene doesn’t know why she doesn’t want to tell Seulgi that either; _doesn’t_ know why she’d love to keep her on the other line for just a little while longer.

But Irene has never been selfish. She may be a lot of things, yet, selfish has never been one of them. She never really learned how to ask more of someone. Never really figured out how to ask someone to stay. So she says, “Thank you for calling me, Seulgi-yah. I’ll be there soon.”

“ _Oh,_ ” she hears Seulgi mumble. Irene can picture the ensuing flush on her cheeks perfectly, at the softness of her tone that she can’t really stop from coming out. “ _Uhm, you’re welcome. Bye, Joohyun._ ”

“Bye,” comes Irene’s reply. Almost inaudible, and as if such a short conversation has taken all of her air away. The hand clutching her phone slowly slides down from her ear, until the screen is pressed against her chest and she feels the sting of something cold _bite_ just below her pulse point: two pieces of metal hanging on the chain around her neck. Two rings crafted in gold and words she’d written and vowed not to break.

But her eyes stay where they are: at the silver numbers plastered on a wooden door, _221_ , and the name right below, spelled out in bolded print: _Son-Jung Seung Wan_.

She takes two steps back before whirling around, scurrying away like a thief in the night.

...

  
  


Holding Somi turns out to be a feat, because as much as Wendy would like to hold her and never let her go, she’s still woozy from both the meds and spending her everything to make sure that her daughter is delivered safe. While her wife hasn’t exactly had any sleep since she went into labor.

So Seulgi wholeheartedly extends a hand and offers to take Somi again, who Wendy transfers to her with an exhausted sigh. She cradles the baby carefully, refusing to let her concentration break at the sound of Wendy’s door creaking open.

Her hold only ever really tightens, pulling Somi close to her chest as if she’s some kind of shield Seulgi suddenly direly needed, when her eyes catch Irene’s form squeezing through the ample gap.

The other woman is carrying the stuffed bunny that is Somi’s gift. Though, now, she has it paired with a light brown stuffed bear that she hands both to Wendy, her eyes pleading for her friend not to say anything.

Wendy catches it right away. Granted, she never really planned on saying anything. She’s too tired to think about anything that isn’t her daughter, and too emotionally spent to come up with something she’d pull from her sleeves. Besides, she’s preferring to save all her remaining energy for when she feeds her new born, since a mere _hi_ feels Herculean enough.

All she can muster is a soft _thank you_ , to which Irene responds with a stiff nod and a timid smile.

It’s Irene, too, who takes on asking, seeing the exhaustion take over her best friend’s still pale form. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

The other woman can only shake her head, her eyes closing as she feels Eunji’s cool lips graze her forehead. “Not right now.”

“The epidural probably hasn’t worn off,” Irene states. She fixes her eyes on Wendy’s droopy smile, curbing the edge to look at where Seulgi and Somi are. It lasts her a few pounding heartbeats and a _don’t worry, I’ll tell the nurse to check on you every thirty minutes_ that she quickly throws at Wendy’s way, before the pull becomes too strong and eventually wins over her.

And then she’s stuck gazing forlornly at a sight she knows too well she’d never ever get to hold in her hands.

…

  
  


_Irene was pretty sure she had already folded and tucked six tops inside her travel suitcase. But the space she’d piled it on top of each was once again empty, something she realized as soon as she returned from hanging the wooden hangers back inside their closet._

_The only things left inside were the bag of toiletries that she had buried underneath the sweatpants and two of her purple bath towels. The sweatpants themselves and her fancy towels were missing, too._

_She peeked at their bed, lifted the lid of the case up, and even threw their pillows around. Still, her tops were nowhere in sight. The only thing she saw was the slender figure at the foot of the mattress, hunched over and propped on her hip, huffing in displeasure until her face scrunched and bunched._

_Seulgi had her lips pursed, though her gaze was fleeting, from glancing at the spot where her wife stood at, to a random patch on their carpeted floor. She was scowling at it as if it had personally offended her, when all it probably ever did was trip her a few clumsy times._

_Irene playfully narrowed her eyes, and then walked to where her wife was, planting herself right in front of her. “Seulgi-yah, where are my clothes?”_

_“I don’t know,” Seulgi grumbled. The air escaped through her nose in another loud huff. “Did you check the laundry room? Maybe they’re all wet. Now you don’t have anything to wear.”_

_A brow arched at Seulgi’s answer, though it was more amused than anything. Irene knew her wife had a tendency to be like this, akin to a little kid throwing tantrums, when she didn’t get what she wanted._

_This time, it was a weekend with her wife all to herself. But Irene was handpicked by their Chief of Surgery to attend a medical conference, not to mention, she was personally requested by the speaker to attend since Doctor Kim was someone she had worked with before._

_So here was Seulgi for the past thirty minutes, trying to throw a five year-old tantrum’s good point. So much so that Irene had to tell her off in warning. “Yah, Seulgi. You better not have thrown them in on the washing machine.”_

_Seulgi folded her arms above her chest, her scowl deepening if even more possible. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_Irene studied her for a minute, squinted eyes slowly turning soft. Because her wife really did look like she was extremely bothered with her leaving, and she couldn’t help but find it endearing. “Baby,” she sighed, cupping a bunched cheek. “I thought you were okay with it? You were the one who convinced me to go, remember?”_

_Seulgi then groaned in protest, remembering the night they almost fought about it. Irene was having second thoughts, and was one tap away from declining Doctor Kim’s personal invitation during their email exchange. But Seulgi was dead set on making her go. She knew well that it was an opportunity Irene would only regret later on if she had missed it, and it fell on her hands to make her see why._

_Though, that didn’t mean she was perfectly fine with Irene leaving, right on the weekend of their second anniversary. But Seulgi lived with the idea that they could always celebrate once her wife came back, even framing that point as something to look forward to._

_Still, it would be the first time she’d be all by herself on such an important day, and suddenly, Seulgi didn’t know how to be alone anymore. “Yeah, but, my wife’s leaving. I’m allowed to be annoyed.”_

_Irene pressed her lips together at one corner, biting at her cheek to tamp down the fact that she felt like swooning. Instead, she shuffled on her feet, slotting herself in between Seulgi’s bent knees, and kept her hands where they were, cupping Seulgi’s cheeks. She then ducked down to meet her wife’s eyes; couldn’t help but coo at the other woman who was trying her best to keep her pinched face in place. “You’re so cute, oh my God.”_

_But Irene had always had magic in her hands that Seulgi was completely powerless against. The scrunch of her nose melted at every graze of the pad of Irene’s thumbs on the curves of her cheeks, until what was left was a lopsided pout that Irene leaned down to kiss away, completely and with no plans to stop._

.

_As soon as Seulgi was done sulking, she had clung to her wife in every way possible, claiming that if she wasn’t going to see Irene in two days, she needed to be as close to her as she could get._

_Irene didn’t have the heart to protest, not when Seulgi practically glued herself to Irene’s side, buried her nose in soft, silky hair and in her favorite spot on Irene’s neck, just below her jaw; kissed a trail from there and down to the junction in between her neck and shoulders, and even the hidden skin beneath Irene’s shirt._

_It took the offer of sushi from Seulgi’s favorite place for lunch to peel herself off, and the promise of a good, long bath afterwards._

_(To relax at least before Irene left, Seulgi had suggested with a straight face, though the arch of her brows gave her true intentions away.)_

_She stole one last kiss from her wife before taking out the tops she hid on their bottom drawer. Seulgi was scooping them up when she felt a dull prick on her finger, and hissed under her breath as she pulled her hand out to check for any wounds. There was nothing but a tiny red spot from where the tip of whatever it was in their drawer had hit, but Seulgi didn’t want to risk herself getting cut in any other moment—or worse, her wife—and so she carefully dumped all of Irene’s clothes on the floor to take the offending thing out._

_It was a clear plastic envelope (her wife never really did trust the brown ones to hold her documents) filled with various flyers and all sorts of pamphlets inside. Seulgi tugged the flap open and fished one out, holding it in front of her as she slowly got to her feet._

_The smooth, glossy paper was pink, decorated with pictures of body parts that Seulgi didn’t want to think about. At the top of the page was the name of the hospital Irene worked at, printed in upper case and quite gallant bold, with “Women’s Center” written right below it._

_Seulgi furrowed her brows, the dip in between her eyes etching deeper as she pulled more of the pamphlets out. There was a common theme, she realized as she held them in her hands, and the only thing that was setting each paper apart were the clinic names._

_Confused, Seulgi looked up from the stack of papers, calling out to her wife rather unsurely, because as far as she could remember, they both agreed to wait. “Baby, what are these?”_

_Irene hummed out loud so that Seulgi could hear her from where she was, practically walking in into their tall closet. She turned around with an easy smile, one that dropped as soon as her eyes caught what Seulgi had held in between her fingers._

_“These are—they’re in vitro stuff?” Seulgi continued as she leafed through the various papers and pamphlets again, all the while trying to figure out if what they first decided on had changed without her really knowing. But there was nothing in her memory, not even from the gaps from when she was either too tired and too sleepy to hold an actual conversation, or too drunk and too in love with her wife to say not yet to her. So she said, “Joohyun, I thought we were going to wait?”_

_“We are,” Irene quickly assured. She ambled to where her wife was, arms instantaneously circling around the taller’s waist to attempt to calm her down. She could sense the panic that was slowly seeping out of her wife’s system, and while that might have hurt, Irene perfectly understood Seulgi’s reasons._

_They were both still starting out on their respective careers—with her just recently passing her boards and her wife finally being with the studio she had always dreamed of joining for only three months or so—and only nearing two years of being married under their belts. It just wasn’t wise and practical to start their family at this point in their lives. But Irene had always been the kind of person who wanted to be prepared for anything and everything, and she figured getting herself educated a little earlier than planned would never hurt anyone. “I’m just reading about it because it’s not my field. And I want to know what we’re going to be facing.”_

_Though, Seulgi couldn’t help but ask about that. “This early? We haven’t even decided when will we do it.”_

_“I know. But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right?”_

_Seulgi only hummed, looking away. Because she knew that if she looked down, she wouldn’t be able to resist giving into her wife’s doe eyes. And God, that pout._

_(It wasn’t that she didn’t want to let their family grow. Honestly, it was a dream that she planned on fulfilling in the near future. But Seulgi wanted the stability before anything else, wanted that security, the assurance that she’d be able to cater to their children’s whims, and give her family everything they want. She wanted her and Irene to get a good grip of their lives first, now intricately meshed together, before bringing another one into their own little world.)_

_But it was a hopeless attempt when Irene herself clutched Seulgi’s chin, turning her face to meet her gaze. “Aigoo, is my wife mad?” Irene teased. “Because I can make ramyun too if she wants and—”_

_“Oh my God,” Seulgi groaned, though it was in good nature. She let her forehead gently fall until it was pressed against Irene’s, then mumbled in between the lips that teasingly captured her own. “Why do I even try?”_

…

  
  


Irene honestly doesn’t know how long she’s been staring, nor if she even has plans to look away because just like all the other times, her body is no longer her own. It never has been, _anymore_ , since that day she bumped into Seulgi in that cafe, and her ensuing reaction wasn’t a glare but rather, two _sorrys_ and a shy smile.

She supposes she has Wendy to thank when the other woman calls her name, because, then, she’s forced to look away. Though, at Wendy’s question, Irene thinks she’d rather just stare, look at Seulgi and freeze that sight into a moment that can never be snatched away from her.

But fate has always had other plans for her that she has long given up on trying to figure out to be one step ahead, and the one thing that seems to be certain these days is that she wants things even though they hurt.

“Do you want to hold Somi?”

She can only nod, her jaw flexing at the movement. It clenches when Wendy calls Seulgi, asking her to come near, and unclenches as she watches Seulgi walk towards her with a familiar heat in her eyes, laying Somi in her arms.

Irene feels her tremble when their skins accidentally touch, but Seulgi’s already pulling back before she can even think of anything to say. The words that have always been a perfect array inside her head are just floating now, swimming aimlessly in her thoughts that Irene’s only able to pick up the simplest. “Thank you.”

Seulgi only nods at her once in reply, but the way she’s staring at her—her _and_ Somi—with so much tenderness in her eyes is enough to choke her up. She dips her chin to look at the miraculously still sleeping newborn, hiding her own ghosts from the one who haunts her most.

While Seulgi feels like sobbing— _wants_ to; one of the many things she wants right in this moment—and _maybe_ , sink in her knees and beg for another chance; tell the love of her life that she’s going to get things right this time.

But she knows all too well that she can’t. So she swallows the urge down and blinks the mist away, then backs a few steps up to create a direly needed space, from what could be another notch in her long list of missteps.

She clears her throat, freeing the breath that she’s been holding in since Irene has stepped inside, then tells Irene, and effectively everyone inside the suddenly much too white and much too sterile room, “I’m gonna—I’m going to get something to drink.”

Staying in that same place won’t do any of them any good, _this_ she knows. Not when the sight of the love of her life smiling down at a newborn she now wishes was theirs tears the remaining parts of her into pieces that Seulgi no longer knows how to put back.

…

  
  


_They had been fighting for what felt like hours, Irene refusing to talk to Seulgi, and Seulgi refusing to see anything past the fact that she couldn’t lose Irene._

_Pain was thrown in the form of words, shaped like pointed knives that was lobbed back and forth, as if it was a ticking time bomb in their hands. It cut and it pierced and it bled, leaving wounds all over their skin and cracks in their hearts._

_“Seulgi, can you stop being dumb for once,” Irene had snapped then, hurtful, biting. “And actually listen to what I’m trying to say?”_

_“This is the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” Seulgi had answered, shoulders slumped as the fight rushed out of her._

_Irene sobered quickly at the sight, her next words turned pleading. “Why can’t we just talk about it, please?”_

_“Hyun, in just a few months you’d officially be an attending and you’re bound to get a crazier sched—”_

_“Don’t you dare turn this on me, Seulgi.”_

_“I’m not. I'm just—I just want us really think about it first. We need to be reasonable.”_

_Especially now that Seulgi’s career was starting to take off and her name was being passed around by word of mouth. While Irene was well on her path to being one of the most promising neurosurgeons in the city._

_“But how long? We’re not getting any younger.”_

_When Seulgi remained silent, Irene could only throw her hands up in the air in surrender._

…

  
  


Seulgi slowly backs away, slinking out of the room in the hopes that her absence will not be noticed, even though she can feel Irene’s eyes on her, tracing her every move. But she’s too tired to think of it being anything past the unspoken yet mutual platonic care the have for each other. They’ve been each other’s best friends after all.

(While Irene feels like she’s taken a sledgehammer straight to her chest, and it hurts—physically; tangibly—even more so when she sees the tautness that dawns on Seulgi’s face.

Because six years ago, Irene’s entire world has shifted in just three words, and she had put Seulgi first, over anyone else including herself.

Seulgi’s pain became her pain. And right now, Seulgi looks like she’s been split in half, and Irene feels that she has been, too.)

Seulgi dashes away from the door as soon as she pulls it close, too afraid for anyone to hear how the very last part of her breaks.

And yet, even leaving can’t erase the image of Irene and Somi that has inked itself into her memory.

…

  
  


_Irene’s scrubs had been traded to dark blue and Seulgi still hadn’t changed her mind._

…

  
  


She makes it out of the hospital through the Nursery floor’s doors, passing Irene’s friend, Yongsun, by and barely even realizing Yongsun’s greeting her _hello_ . Her reply is a harried _hi_ and a rigid nod, which she quickly leaves behind as she ambles to the first corner she comes upon, almost toppling over the nearest wooden bench she spots.

Her heart is still throbbing from when she left Wendy’s room, her head swimming in thoughts and memories that’s suddenly all in her head. But nothing is ever clear, and the only thing that’s coming out is the regret from all the words she wishes she could have said when she had the chance.

Seulgi leans back, dropping her weight against the bench rest. She then looks up, watching the last dregs of sunlight filter in through the branches of the tree she’s finding refuge under.

This is where Eunji finds her, and in such a state that she barely even acknowledges another person’s presence; hardly moves when the other woman takes the vacant spot on the very same bench. They must be quite a sight, Eunji in all her disheveled glory and mismatched shoes, and her, looking like she just lost her world all over again.

“How was the drink?” Eunji speaks, after what feels like the hundredth time the traffic light right across the street has changed from red to yellow to green.

Seulgi turns to look at her, and isn’t surprised to find the other woman already staring at her, as if she _knows_. Eunji has always been one with an uncanny ability to catch onto things quickly—that throwing a haphazard reply would be pointless—and so she opens her mouth to answer.

Only to find the choked sound she’s been pushing down since she laid her eyes on Irene again finally escape her throat.

Eunji’s sympathy feels heavier on her shoulders now more than before, that she has to look away, back up at the sky, and down at the other side of the street, until her gaze reaches the line where it disappears. Her head is moving too fast from trying to shake away the warmth that she feels is suddenly streaking down her face.

Seulgi feels her hands tremble, violent and unstoppable that she has to ball them into fists to keep them steady. And, yet, _really_ , she only has one thing to say. “D-did you see Joohyun with Somi? She looked so beautiful.”

(Eunji doesn’t miss the weight of the past months in Seulgi’s voice, in the way that it quivers; feels the hurt that hides in the trenches of the deep, halting breaths that Seulgi is trying to hold back course in her own bones.

Because Seulgi completely understands that some things should just stay broken, she really does. What Seulgi _doesn’t_ , is why did it have to be them.)

She surges down, propping her elbows above her knees, laced hands covering her mouth to muffle another sob that wants to escape. But it’s her shoulders that wrack with the constrained sound as she silently whimpers, her head hanging and her hands gripping each other impossibly tighter, her knuckles pressing against her lips so hard it almost hurt.

They move against them, leaving a trail of droplets in her words’ wake. “I was so, so stupid. Oh God, I’m so, so stupid.”

She feels more than sees Eunji’s hand rest on one of her shoulders, soft yet calloused fingers giving it a firm squeeze, a _do what you think you need to do_ that emanates from the warmth of her palm.

Like she gets _her_ , she gets Seulgi.

Seulgi doesn’t really know how long she stays like that, eyes closed and wishing for another chance she knows she probably doesn’t deserve. And when she finally musters up the will to look at Eunji once more, the other woman is still staring at her, though, her eyes are red, too.

Eunji just gives her a kind smile when she notices her looking back—maybe she doesn’t deserve that either—one that doesn’t drop even after Seulgi finally untangles her own hands to cover her comforting one and squeeze it back in gratitude.

Together, they watch the sun slowly give way to the coming night, until Eunji’s phone rings and Seulgi hears Wendy ask her wife to get back so that they can feed Somi.

Eunji says _I’m on my way_ right away, but she has always been one of Seulgi’s best friends through and through, only agreeing to leave once she’s sure that Seulgi’s okay—as okay as she can be—despite Seulgi telling her that she should stop worrying over someone who isn’t her daughter. Right now, at least.

Besides, Seulgi can sense the excitement that’s pouring out of Eunji’s veins, and the need to hold her daughter once again. So she sends her off with an _I’ll be fine_ , and a _please give Somi a kiss for me_ , dropping her goddaughter’s name for good measure.

Eunji leaves her with one last squeeze on her shoulder, that she feels all the way through her walk back to her empty apartment.

…

  
  


The autumn breeze turns freezing as it paves the way for winter, the snow finding its home on rooftops and front lawns. White sheets now cover the streets, already reaching up to the ankles, though Irene swears it was just yesterday when the first snow pillowed over them.

It genuinely feels like a blink—she blinked and the trees in front of their complex had shed all of their leafs, autumn passing by and leaving snowed prints in its wake.

A blink, and she’s suddenly watching her godchild of now more than two months be gently swayed by her mother while nursing her; watching as Wendy maneuvers all over Yeri’s living room in a waltz that effectively stops Somi’s whimpers.

(The little one doesn’t like to sit still, as it turns out; her mother’s daughter.)

They’re not even snowed in or anything. But Wendy’s too tired to do anything these days, and this is the first day off in weeks that Irene has gotten where she isn’t a part of the hospital’s on-call rotation. And so their _hey, let’s meet up for lunch_ turned into simply staying in at Joy and Yeri’s place, with takeout cooling by the kitchen island: three boxes of lo mein and a boxful of dumplings that Eunji brought in with her. Their savior.

It’s a decision that’s quickly proving to be the smartest, when the weather forecast airs on Irene’s muted television, matched with the blanket of snow that’s starting to fill their windowsill.

Irene tries real hard not to coo at the small noise Somi makes as she unlatches from Wendy, and merely folds her fingers on her lap, settling to watch the exchange of arms when Wendy hands her daughter to her wife.

She has been monopolizing the baby since this morning anyway. She figures she’d ought to give Eunji the time, who has driven all the way from the station to spend her lunch break with them.

Wendy tiredly sinks back into the couch as Eunji takes her place, who rights Somi up and gently pats her soft, small back to coax a burp.

Wendy’s exhausted sigh is as loud as the sound Yeri’s couch makes as she settles in it completely, content to watch her wife sway, too, and coo at the baby’s ear. “You can do it, Somi-yah. Just don’t throw up on _umma_ , okay? I still have to go back to the station.”

Irene tries really hard not to feel like she’s intruding on a family moment, but Eunji presses her lips on the side of Somi’s tiny head and Wendy’s eyes light up with so much adoration that Irene just can’t help feeling such.

She chooses to focus on her godchild instead, despite the lingering dull ache that doesn’t ebb away; forces a smile when they finally hear Somi’s soft burp, and the awe in Eunji’s voice as she marvels. 

“I can’t believe she actually listened to me.”

“She does,” Wendy assures her wife. Her endeared grin only grows as she remembers all those nights that Eunji talked to her heavily pregnant stomach, telling their daughter about her day. Somi tended to move around and press on her bladder a lot during the night, but she’d settle once she heard Eunji’s gentle tone. “She’s always had, hon. You’re her mom, after all.”

...

  
  


(There’s a pang that creeps on Irene’s chest, throbbing at the edges of the hole she has cut herself.

It’s shaped like Seulgi. Raw and jagged, as if it’s cut by a broken shard she has chipped off from a very vital part of her.

The piece of her own heart where Seulgi’s name is inked.)

...

  
  


Somi yawns in her mom’s arms, but it’s evident that she’s fighting sleep. And so Irene goes to grab the toys that she keeps on her bedroom for when her goddaughter comes over, thinking of playing with her for a while until she gets tired.

She hears the faint crack of the apartment door as it opens, just as she’s grabbing the turtle plush, Eunji’s voice greeting someone _hey, I haven’t seen you in a while_ that follows, and Wendy gently calling her name that still startles her. “ _Unnie_ , someone’s looking for you.”

“Who is it?” She asks, looking over her shoulder, and then frowns at the hesitant look that shows on Wendy’s face.

“She’s uhm,” the other woman starts to say. The way she swallows visibly has Irene’s frown etching deeper. “Eunji knows her from the uhm… the dance studio.”

_Oh._

Irene feels her fingers dig into the plush toy on her hand, unknowingly squeezing it. And her voice is as rough as the tiny beads rolling beneath her tight grip when she says, “I’ll be right out.”

Wendy only nods in response. But she doesn’t leave her spot. Instead, she props herself on the doorframe and patiently waits for Irene to step outside. Though, she pointedly looks away when Irene takes a few deep breaths, composing herself, giving her as much privacy as the small room can offer, and all the time in the world, really.

Because Wendy knows that whatever the woman is here for will involve Seulgi one way or another, and that is never going to be something Irene will be able to deal with rather easily.

.

Irene steps out of her room in five deep breaths, though she’s not really sure if she’s still even breathing by the time she reaches the front door and spots her ex-wif— _Seulgi’s_ co-worker.

She’s really expecting it to be Eunbi, being the one closest to Seulgi. They’ve had her over a few times, and so Irene knows her most out of all.

But their guest is a completely new face; one Irene can’t remember ever seeing. She knows all of Seulgi’s co-workers, even the ones who have already left, and yet, the tall, blonde woman standing right in front of her doesn’t spark any fragment of her memory.

“Hi, I’m Eunae,” the woman greets her, quickly following with an apology. “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but my boss would like to know if you have seen Seul around?”

She hasn’t. The last time they saw each other, Seulgi had Somi in her arms, and she looked up at Irene with this smile on her face that only Somi could coax out.

(For a second, she had gazed at Irene as if she was telling her she was finally ready. But it was gone the next, and Seulgi’s eyes had dimmed, the smile hanging at the corner of her lips suddenly weighed by a world that slipped like sand in between her fingers and a chance she knew she single-handedly ruined.

The last time they saw each other, Irene was wishing to turn back time, to that fateful night where they’ve said things they both regret and Seulgi was begging her to fix it.)

“Oh, we—I,” Irene stutters, fumbling for words, because she hasn’t heard Seulgi’s nickname in quite a while, not even from their closest friends, and yet, here is a woman she has absolutely no knowledge of, that has _Seul_ rolling out of her tongue in a way that’s supposed to sound foreign but isn’t. It’s almost the exact same way _Seul_ used to slip out of Irene’s own, wrapped in warmth and tender affection, that Irene feels something drop at the pit of her stomach.

“We haven’t seen Seulgi,” Wendy, ever her savior these days, quickly answers for her. Irene can only nod, and flash a tight smile she forces herself to wear for manners’ sake. “Is something wrong?”

Eunae’s face twists into a kind of worry that Irene knows _intimately_ well, and Irene feels the churning in her gut grow stronger. Because for a second, it seemed like she’s staring at her own eyes in front of the mirror—staring at the muted panic that dances in them knowing that something might have happened to Seulgi.

“I’m… we’re not really sure,” a hesitant Eunae admits. “She hasn’t showed up at the studio for three days now. I’ve been dropping by her place since yesterday and tried calling for her for almost an hour but… no one seemed to be home.”

Irene swallows hard at that. “H-have you tried calling her phone?”

“We have,” the other woman confirms, then, “but we can’t reach her. That’s why we had to check her records for any emergency contact.”

Her answering nod is stiff, both from the fact that she’s still Seulgi’s emergency contact even though it has been _months_ , and the anxiety that rushes to her head, paling slightly at the thought that something _did_ happen to Seulgi and not one of them knew about it. “I’ll go see if she’s at the— _her_ apartment.”

“Thank you,” Eunae says. The huge sigh of relief she lets out hits the hallway’s ground as she bows down in gratitude, but it isn’t lost on Irene. She fishes a business card from the back pocket of her jeans when she comes back up, handing it to the smaller woman. “Please call me if there’s any news.”

In another time, Irene thinks she’d be more warm and welcoming. But half of her brain is already drowning in restless unease that she feels she might start spewing out; while the other half can’t quite stop screaming _Seul_ in Eunae’s voice, that her smile just grows more and more rigid the longer Eunae stands by the front door.

Wendy, though, can only look at her oddly, her eyebrows drawing _close_ as the other woman’s _of course_ comes out sharp despite the way her voice quivers.

( _Closer_ at the guarded look that settles in on Irene’s face, and something else quite familiar yet indiscernible that Wendy can’t quite place.)

...

  
  


To her own relief, Irene does find Seulgi at her apartment, on the makeshift bed that Seulgi seems to have made a permanent refuge of, surrounded by crumpled used tissues, a pile of empty rolls, and the darkness that plunged the modest living room into.

(Never mind that the weight on her fingers, of what used to be her keys to what was once her _home_ , feels almost foreign to her now.

And yet, when she puts the key in and it slides as easy as it always had, it’s one of the few things that feels perfectly right these days.)

But her respite is short lived, because Seulgi looks frail enough for Irene to barely curb the urge to rush her down to their emergency bay. It has been three days after all—Seulgi has been missing for three days, curled under sweat-filled pillows and covers that have not been changed, completely unable to keep her head up as the feeling of never-ending nausea and misery wash over her every time she tries to.

Irene pushes the door close, toes her sneakers off next, leaving them right next to where Seulgi’s boots are unthinkingly. She walks towards the couch as lithe as she can, calling Seulgi’s name first to see if she’s awake, and sinking to her knees when she doesn’t get any form of response.

She really, only fully intends to check if Seulgi has a fever, and perhaps get her to move, too—because God knows lying on this couch for three days straight can’t be at all comfortable and Seulgi _needs_ to be able to fully rest to recover—but her eyes catch the exhaustion marring Seulgi’s face as she carefully pulls the blanket down, this weight that’s making Seulgi’s own look like they’re sinking deep even if they are screwed shut.

Irene’s hand ends up hovering above Seulgi’s forehead, until it slowly moves to cover her mouth as she studies the other woman wordlessly. While the unease that hisses and coils all around her is louder than a scream.

And a part of her, that _huge_ part of her that she has been trying so hard to push at the very back of her heart, _that_ part that’s irrevocably devoted to Seulgi, wants to take a hundred fifty four steps and a thousand words back, just so she won’t have to see Seulgi this way.

It’s the same part that reminds her in the next two heartbeats, that Seulgi’s well-being comes first—that there’s another time and place to battle her own regrets that are now fighting to surface. 

So Irene steels herself in one deep breath, locks _that_ part of her that is in love with Seulgi, and gently wakes her up.

Seulgi jolts right at once, with a gasp that sounded like she’s rousing up from something arduous. But Irene doesn’t jump in surprise. Her heart sinks instead, constricting right on the spot because Seulgi is the one person she knows that can sleep through any storm and _yet_ —

“Joohyun?” Seulgi mumbles in disbelief. Her head is still swimming in nausea, burning with fever and the remnants of her dream that she doesn’t really know if this vision of Irene right in front of her is real. Or the perpetuation of something so cruel.

(The sight of Irene used to take her breath away, but now it just robs her of air in all the wrong ways, sharp and in pieces like shrapnels of a grenade, and Seulgi just desperately wants to breathe.)

“Hey,” Irene replies, with a smile she forces herself to wear to keep Seulgi at ease; finally finds the strength to will her hand to feel Seulgi’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

But her palm has barely grazed the visibly flushed skin and Seulgi is already pulling back, stuttering out a _what are you doing here_ that has Irene tasting heartbreak in her tongue.

“Eunae came by Yeri’s apartment looking for me,” she starts to explain, ignoring the taste she knows would linger. The pause she punctuates it with is pregnant with _everything._ “Because I’m still listed as your emergency contact.”

“I—I apologize.” Seulgi looks down as she rasps haltingly, hiding the guilt and embarrassment on the bunched sheets. “I’ll have it changed as soon as I get back to the studio. I’m… I’m sorry they had to bother you.”

Irene almost bristles at the civility that suddenly springs up in between them, as if Irene hadn’t tasted the sun on Seulgi’s lips each time they kissed till they were out of breath; apologizing to her like she’s someone she just met, as if Seulgi hadn’t mapped out galaxies on every inch of Irene’s skin. 

In the end, she just sighs, “Seulgi.” It’s broken, weary; tired of everything and this void that has suddenly shot up high.

Seulgi just swallows thickly, pushing back the tears pooling at the corner of her eyes. She has never been good at controlling her feelings—anything, _really_ , when it comes to Irene—and so she turns away from where Irene is towering over her and lies on her other side, resolved to just stare at the linen fabric covering the couch rest. Then, she says, “I already took Nyquil anyway.”

She feels more than hears the next sigh that comes from the woman now behind her. It’s the last sound that fills the room as they both turn quiet after, long enough for Seulgi to think that Irene will grow tired of it and just get up and leave.

(She swallows more thickly at that, at how Irene seems to always find it easy to walk away, while she can’t even bring herself to look at the woman she loves and tell her very own self that _maybe_ , it was time to.)

Seulgi can only screw her eyes shut, feeling another rough cough wrack her chest and keeping it to her own.

.

The silence that hangs in between them is another blanket that wraps around Seulgi, that feels more like a bulk of weight that makes her knees give in instead of being a source of comfort.

But what weakens her completely is the gentle palm that she suddenly feels running along her back, and the warmth of a hand that doesn’t belong to her. It seeps through her clothes and straight underneath her shirt, matched with the softest tone she hears as Irene says, “Scoot over.”

Seulgi twists around at the weight she feels slowly dipping the edge of the couch. “W-what?”

“Scoot over a little,” Irene repeats. Though her hand doesn’t stop moving, soothing the roughness she can hear bubbling from Seulgi’s throat. “Come on _bab_ —”

It’s Irene who swallows visibly this time, her heart suddenly racing and running her throat dry. “Scoot, please.”

She doesn’t wait nor look for a response, instead only focusing on getting Seulgi to settle as comfortably as she can. Because she looks weary, even more now than when they first saw each other after they’ve signed their life together away.

“It’s—it’s okay,” Seulgi tries to tell her. 

But the ensuing cough that bounces off of her chest proves otherwise. The look on Irene’s face morphs into something determined, a look Seulgi knows she has no chances to defy, especially in her current state.

With some difficulty, Irene shifts on the makeshift bed to lie down next to Seulgi, at the same time making sure that her hand is kept pressed on Seulgi’s back. It’s a tight squeeze, and it leaves her hand in an awkward, uncomfortable angle—so tight that she can feel the puffs of Seulgi’s breaths against her cheek; and if she’s suddenly all flushed, she knows it’s just from the heat Seulgi’s fevered body is giving off.

It just won’t do, so she says, “Turn around.”

She feels another puff of warm breath—not the good kind of warm, Irene can tell; she really needs to make her take medicine again some time later—as she watches Seulgi blink at her in confusion before asking, “What?”

It’s honestly a surprise that Irene’s voice doesn’t shake when she answers. “Turn around and onto your side please.”

She punctuates it with a firm tone that doesn’t leave Seulgi any room to protest. Seulgi can only follow then, shuffling slowly so as not to make the throbbing in her head worse, and stop the bile from rising at the back of her throat when she turns completely and finds Irene staring at her.

The look on her face is unreadable. But Seulgi will always know what _those_ eyes hold from anywhere. Though, she’s too feverish and too weary to think anything of it other than how Irene is both a doctor with a sworn oath, and a genuinely good person with the biggest heart.

She tells herself this, repeats it over and over when she feels Irene’s arm, sure _and_ safe _and_ solid, circling around her waist, the other guiding her head to the crook of Irene’s neck.

Irene settles right next to her with great ease, with Seulgi’s head fitting right into the empty space between her neck and her shoulder so perfectly, as if it has always been meant to be filled by _her_.

And Seulgi finds it impossible to fight the urge to bury her nose at the hollow of Irene’s shoulder; not when it no longer hurts to breathe, fill her lungs with air and Irene’s scent.

Because Irene _is_ home.

…

  
  


It takes her six yawns before feeling the medicine kick in. Irene tells her to go to sleep then, without much protest from a now drowsy Seulgi. For that, Irene’s thankful.

“You’ll feel better soon,” Irene adds, pulling up the thick blanket she’s also now buried under when she feels Seulgi’s shiver, and covering the other woman completely.

Seulgi feels her head loll, the effects now fully settling in. It’s both _that_ and the need to be as close to Irene as she can get that makes her bury her nose even more deeper, breathing in more of Irene’s scent as if she can bottle it all up in her head, free for her to uncap once Irene leaves and she inevitably has to shatter this bubble they both unknowingly stepped into. Then, she whispers, “For how long?”

“Six hours, give or take,” Irene answers. “You’ll wake up just in time for dinner.”

“Six hours,” Seulgi repeats, slurring.

Irene can only watch her fight sleep for a few more seconds, until she dozes off completely and her breathing gets even. It’s only then that the smaller woman plucks her phone—that she has felt buzzing ever since she got in here—out of the pocket of her jeans, swiping at the screen to pick up Wendy’s call.

“ _Irene-unnie!”_ Wendy blurts out by way of greeting; fires harried questions next. “ _Did you make it to Seulgi’s? Did you find her? Is she—”_

Irene’s barely able to get her _yes_ in amidst the slew of words, though Wendy is still able to catch it. But there is something in Irene’s tone that makes her slow down, turns her quiet for a few beats until she scrounges enough courage to press on. “ _Is she okay?”_

“She’s,” Irene starts, but stops, because she doesn’t really know how to answer that truthfully. Seulgi looks nowhere near _okay_ , bone-tired and weary, with the weight of the past months showing on what was once Seulgi’s serene sleeping face.

And all Irene can do is to clench her jaw as she swallows the lump lodging itself on her throat. Then, “She’s sleeping right now.”

“ _That’s good to hear,_ ” Wendy says, and Irene can almost feel the breath of relief she lets out. “ _But, are you?_ ”

Irene opens her mouth to answer, to tell Wendy that yes, of course, _she is_ . Why wouldn’t she be? But what comes out is just a husked _I’m_ , her throat suddenly starchy and dry, that she has to take a visible gulp before she can continue. “I’ll be fine. I’d probably have to run to the store for food and stuff, because God knows Seulgi doesn’t have anything remotely edible in here.” She punctuates it with a laugh that she hopes doesn’t sound forced.

But she’s not fooling Wendy; she can never fool Wendy. Her silence is enough to tell Irene, so she says, _really, I’ll manage, Seungwan,_ calling her friend by her name to offer some assurance.

Even though it’s starting to feel like she _won’t_. From one bad idea to the next.

“ _Are you sure?_ ”

“I am.”

“ _Alright,_ ” the other woman concedes with a resigned sigh, knowing that she can’t really change Irene’s mind. “ _But, you call me, okay? If you need anything. Or Yeri, if you want._ ”

“I will. Thank you, Wendy.”

“ _I mean it,_ _unnie_. _Anything_.”

“I know.”

After she ends Wendy’s call, Irene leans past the couch’s arm to retire her phone for the day, setting it face down on the nearby corner table. The movement causes Seulgi to jostle a little, and so Irene hurries to settle back, planting a light kiss at the top of Seulgi’s hair to shush her. It has always been the best way to bring a rousing Seulgi back to sleep.

It’s such a rare, unrestrained circumstance, where Irene allows her heart to escape from the cage she has locked it in and watches it jump willingly, right into the hands of the one person who owns it; lets her lips linger on smooth, flushed skin because Irene has six hours to stop pretending that Seulgi is nothing more than a friend now.

For six hours, Irene gets the life she used to have back.

.

So here’s where Irene is now: lying right next to Seulgi, holding her in her arms for the first time in what she honestly feels like is forever, and pressing the lightest kisses all over the crown of Seulgi’s head.

Irene props her free hand on the couch’s arm that’s by their heads, resting her temple above it, content to look at a sleeping Seulgi. And the hand still wrapped around Seulgi’s waist is pulling her impossibly closer, like she’s now scared to let her go.

 _I’m here_ weaves through the spaces between her fingers splayed on Seulgi’s back, her unspoken _I still love you, I’ll always do_ lost and sinking in Seulgi’s skin.

…

  
  


Seulgi comes to to the feeling of a palm pressing lightly against her forehead, with Irene’s voice gently telling her to sleep some more; soft and sounding like it’s muffled by water that she’s not quite sure if it’s real or she’s just dreamed it.

It’s dark, and Seulgi can’t really make out anything, not with the anchors attached to her lids. She tries to fight through the haze, tries to bring her brain out of that state of half-asleep where she hears everything but nothing makes sense; but Irene’s soft voice is making her feel like everything’s _okay_ , and her _wife’s_ just tucking her under her chin like she would on some nights.

Yet, it’s the circles running on her back that puts her right back to sleep, and the warmth of a body so familiar that Seulgi can’t help but run the pad of her thumb on the dip of its waist over and over, until she drifts off again.

…

  
  


Something hits Irene lightly. It doesn’t really hurt, but it’s enough to make her blink her eyes open.

When she sees the thick purple blanket up to her nose, she shoots up from where she has fallen asleep: still at the ample space on Seulgi’s couch that she has squeezed into, with Seulgi’s fingers gently curled around the dip of her waist.

Seulgi, for her part, looks a little dazed and still exhausted. But she smiles this sleepy smile that goes straight for Irene’s gut, and says, “Sorry, I think I woke you up.”

Irene was prepared for the onslaught of questions, of the _whats_ and the _whys_ that she’s sure will come once Seulgi wakes up and the medicine wears off.

But she’s not anywhere near prepared to see Seulgi like this, blinking sleepily at her like she always did whenever Irene woke her up with a kiss; smiling at Irene like she always had.

“I—it’s okay,” Irene manages to say despite the hammering in her chest. Her eyes scan the living room, and sees the moonlight passing through the cracks of the kitchen window. The clock on Seulgi’s wall tells her it’s almost nine. “I uhm… I was about to wake up anyway.”

Seulgi only tilts her head. Irene can’t help but follow the movement, and the way Seulgi’s hair fans on the pillow behind makes her wish that she could run her fingers through the smooth locks.

Then, Seulgi hums, not really believing it. “You should go back to sleep, Hyun-ah.”

 _That_ snaps her completely back into attention. She offers a timid, tight smile; says, “I’m okay.”

Seulgi bites her lip (Irene desperately wishes she didn’t), as if she’s contemplating if it’s okay to say the next words or not.

But she does, anyway. Though it’s with a playful smile to take the edge away. “You’ve got carry-ons under your eyes.”

At that, a soft laugh escapes from Irene’s throat. “You don’t really have room to talk.”

Seulgi doesn’t answer. Instead, she wordlessly pats on the space Irene has slept on and then stares at her, kind and imploring.

It would’ve been easy, _so, so easy_ , to just lie back down and slide herself underneath the blanket once more. But they’ve already taken enough missteps as it is, and Irene doesn’t want to risk making things harder than they already are.

(Because she’s never sure if she’ll ever be able to control herself, with Seulgi lying right next to her, and Seulgi’s scent swimming in her head.)

“It’s okay,” Irene reinforces. Though, she doesn’t really know if she’s telling Seulgi, or if she’s trying to convince herself.

But it’s _Seulgi_ , and if there’s one thing that is never going to change, it’s that she’s always going to be Irene’s greatest weakness.

The click of Seulgi’s tongue is her only warning, and the next thing Irene knows, fingers are circling around her wrist, her _everything_ being set alight once more when their skins touch.

Yet it’s Seulgi’s voice that pulls her from the spiral she’s about to descend into, her soft _come on, Joohyun_ tugging her back from teetering over the edge.

(She doesn’t really know which leaves a deeper mark, the pads of Seulgi’s fingers, or the gold metal on Seulgi’s fourth finger that’s digging against the bone sticking out—a ring Irene hasn’t seen her wearing in a while but for some reason she doesn’t really want to fathom, Seulgi is now.

Irene refuses to think of what that implies. Because it has been _months_ , and it still feels like hell.)

She swallows thickly, pushing the lump that has lodged itself in her throat. It’s with a sigh that she resigns to the fact that Seulgi’s going to win this, when her resolve crumbles completely and she gives in into the hum of her body that’s craving the proximity.

“Okay.”

.

It turns out, she has underestimated how much she actually needs the shut-eye, because she’s already halfway into dreamland when she does lie back down, and her head hasn’t even hit the pillow.

Still, Irene fights the strong pull of lethargy to say, “Can you wake me up in thirty minutes?”

She feels more than sees Seulgi turning her head, then hears her asking. “What for?”

But the movement causes Seulgi’s scent to waft into the air, the smell of her hair filling Irene’s already sleep-addled mind. She slurs in answer, now drunk in sleep and the warmth of Seulgi’s presence. “Because I should make you dinner, maybe some soup.”

Seulgi finds herself smiling at the thoughtfulness, though it’s lopsided, heavy with remorse and anchored by regret. But by the time she scrounges enough courage to speak, Irene has already drifted off. 

Still, she tells her, “Just sleep. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

…

  
  


A quiet few minutes pass. Seulgi feels her own sluggishness come back and slowly take over as she continues to lie in this kind of comfortable silence. The kind that makes Seulgi feel at peace despite the ache that throbs in the spaces between her ribcage, from knowing how all of this is just temporary.

(Akin to cradling a _rose_ with thorns. 

Irene’s a rose with thorns, and Seulgi would rather lose her hands than leave Irene’s side.)

She gets woken up for the second time that day by the air getting cut off. Something covers her nose, blocking the air out, and Seulgi jerks awake as she feels a gasp make its way out of her mouth.

“What the—” Seulgi groans as she rolls back to her side, grateful for the couch rest or else, she would’ve fallen face first on the floor boards.

From somewhere next to her, she hears an amused chuckle. Seulgi sluggishly lifts her head, and then throws the meanest glare she can muster towards the person responsible.

(It’s got little effect, because the chuckle only turns into a soft laugh.)

“You really should stop lying on your stomach when you sleep,” Irene says, playfully _tsks_.

“I can’t help it,” Seulgi grumbles.

She pushes herself off the makeshift bed, but that doesn’t really work in her favor because she’s been lying on her stomach for too long that half of her body feels numb. So she tries rolling herself instead, and lets out a breathless _oompf_ when her exposed shoulder hits the rest.

She hears another giggle, so achingly well-missed that Seulgi shoots up from where she’s hunched to look over her shoulder.

She sees Irene pressing her lips together, stifling another chuckle that’s threatening to break out. Seulgi can only stare at her dumbly in turn, because she’s seen _this_ one too many times, and for a moment she _forgets_.

“You were snoring too loud, too,” Irene teases even more.

“I was not,” Seulgi refutes weakly, clearly hung up on the sparkle in Irene’s eyes.

“You were.”

She feels her breath hitch, at the way her heart slam against her chest. It brings about the sudden need to get out of here—she _needs_ to get out of here before she does something stupid, like lean forward and steal a kiss from soft, quirked lips.

There’s a sudden onslaught of tears that threatens to fall, and Seulgi has to press her forehead back onto her pillow, hoping that it will keep them at bay.

It _doesn’t_.

Not when there’s _Joohyun and Seulgi_ carved in every corner of the apartment, _still_ ; moments sewn on covers and sheets where Irene’s scent still lingers, and memories inked on every door.

In these walls are Irene’s fingerprints, in the curtains is the fragrance of her favorite fabric conditioner; in Seulgi’s sleep shirt is the breath Irene has left her behind with.

She’s quickly engulfed with the need to _breathe_ that she almost misses Irene calling her name. But she catches the next words clearly. “A-are you crying?”

Her _no_ is muffled by the pillow, but it breaks into a choked sob halfway through, that Irene asks _why are you crying_ in barely muted panic.

“Nothing.” Seulgi just shakes her head. Can only keep it at that because _someday, someone who isn’t me is going to fall asleep and wake up into your eyes for the rest of their life_ is a little too much.

…

  
  


But maybe, it’s too late to stop _anything_ now. Not with the words she has long pushed back all rushing up from the back of her throat and dangling at the tip of her tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Seulgi spits out. She looks at Irene with regret written all over her face; and it takes Irene’s everything to stop herself—her entire _everything_ to stop herself from taking Seulgi’s face in her hands to kiss it away.

Her gaze is so full of remorse as she continues to look at Irene with wet, beady eyes; and maybe, _maybe_ , it’s so wrong to ask Seulgi, who’s still feverish from both malady and the throbbing heartache, but Irene feels her entire being suddenly swell with the need to know.

“Seul,” she says, ignoring the way her own voice shakes. “Why did you let me let you go?”

“Because you were right,” Seulgi tells her then, in the spirit of honesty, in this hoarse tone of voice that she’s not really sure is only because she’s sick, or if it’s because of everything else—maybe the remaining pieces of her heart that has yet to be broken wedged in between. “I made a promise to you. I promised to give you anything you want. And you looked so unhappy that I thought it was that.”

“You didn’t even—” Irene starts to say, her fingers curling around a fistful of blanket, crumpling the fabric so hard that it leaves imprints on her palm. “You didn’t even think about fighting for me?”

“I did. Every day,” Seulgi confesses. A pained look takes over her face, her voice sounding strained as she continues to speak. Irene feels it deeply in her gut, so immense that she feels her own eyes sting, her vision blurring. “But I wasn’t sure if you even wanted me to. You looked like you’ve had enough, and I can’t hurt you more than I already have.”

“I—” Irene mutters, but her heart constricts so tight that she has to suck in air into her lungs, and finds a dire need to get to her feet—to create a distance in between her and Seulgi she deems enough for her not to pull Seulgi into her arms and keep her there till they both just forget _everything_. 

It’s so, so easy to remember what it was like to be in love with Seulgi, because despite all the heartbreak and the pain, Irene has never forgotten. She _knows_ she never will.

Yet, in the end, she just excuses herself under the guise of finding more blankets for Seulgi, and all but runs to the spare room where they keep the duvets and the sheets. 

She stumbles— _quite literally_ —onto the medium-sized box that’s standing a few steps away from the room’s closet. She doesn’t remember it ever being there, which piques at her curiosity and distracts her enough from the battle that’s going on inside her head. 

Irene gets to her knees, carefully tugging at the flaps open, like she would on a patient lying on her OR table. She’s greeted by a photo of her and Seulgi, her brain immediately plucking the memory from the proverbial box she has kept it in ever since their separation: _Spring 2017, Shinjuku Gyoen, Tokyo, Japan_. 

She picks it up, and almost doesn’t recognize herself and the genuine happiness that’s written all over her younger self’s face. While her very own guilt clouds her vision, _smothering_ at the sight of Seulgi’s untainted smile, and she suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

Irene can only run the pad of her thumb against the glossy paper then, fingertips grazing Seulgi’s face in the most reverent way she knows how; brings it to her lips for a touch, slow and just full of the things she doesn’t think she’d ever get the courage and the chance to say.

Things like: _I’m sorry_ ; _I need you_. 

Things like: _nothing will ever be the same without you_.

Things like: _you’ll always be the love of my life, too._

...

  
  


She doesn’t really know how long she stays inside the spare room, on her knees while clutching the photo in between her fingers—long enough that she can’t feel her legs, yet _never_ long enough for Seulgi’s words to stop echoing inside her head.

Seulgi has fallen back to sleep by the time she musters up the courage to step out—maybe she cried herself to, but Irene doesn’t want to think about that, either—scraping through every bit of bone and every inch of skin for the false bravado that hopefully can last her hours.

Yet, she still stops at the spare room’s door, a trembling hand hovering the round knob as she takes a deep, unsteady breath.

And another.

And another.

It’s both blind faith and the need to make sure that Seulgi’s okay that pushes the door open for Irene. But it’s a miracle that makes her walk back into the living room and not bolt straight to the front door, jump into her car and drive to the outskirts of the city, to a place she can quietly pour her heart out into. 

It takes a _miracle_ , and the fact that this is the love of her life; despite everything, Irene will always have the instinct to put her first.

But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt either, because it does. It hurts and it cuts through Irene’s very core, right at the spots where it wounds her most: in between the spaces of her where Seulgi resides; the gaps between her fingers, the hollows in her neck, the dips on her waist where Seulgi’s hands had once found their home.

She’s feeling weak at each step she takes towards the couch, as though all the pent up things within her are suddenly rushing out of her system. It’s as if the exhaustion from her listless days and sleepless nights combined, and the bleakness in between those days where she ran on autopilot, are finally catching up to her.

It’s honestly a wonder that she’s not falling on her face, or plopping down on the closest comfortable surface that just happens to be the same couch Seulgi is sleeping on. Though, she almost does—almost crawls into the makeshift bed and burrows herself onto Seulgi’s side the moment she turns off all the lights, save for the dim lamp light above their heads.

Maybe it’s the conversation that sparked almost out of nowhere; maybe it’s out of habit; maybe it’s the intense feeling of missing Seulgi that’s hitting her harder this time, even though she’s right in front of her, even though she _chose_ to let her go.

But Irene manages to hold on onto the last bit of restraint, and she’s left nursing the hurt that wounds her so suddenly, at the knowledge that sooner or later, she won’t remember what Seulgi feels like underneath her fingertips.

All she’d have left is memories and a single photograph.

…

  
  


_Seulgi exhaled a long breath as she slowly slid up on the bed, the heels of her hands and the caps of her knees digging through the softest mattress she had ever laid on. She shifted and shuffled beneath the sheets that were starting to stick to her back, greatly mindful of the body lying underneath her._

_Though, she couldn’t resist running her fingers on the curves of the slender waist, the tips leaving featherlight touches as she trailed around the thin beads of sweat scattered all over a toned stomach._

_“Baby, that tickles.”_

_Seulgi merely chuckled and bit at her bottom lip. But her ministrations didn’t stop. She let her hand travel upwards, mouth, teeth and tongue joining the journey not long after. Until she reached an arched neck and focused on the spot that she knew drove Irene crazy; left a mark that would last even weeks after they had flown back to Seoul._

_(And if Seulgi could, she’d leave one that would never fade. Much like the space on her left hand’s fourth finger now—right where it met her knuckle—that she swore began turning paler as soon as Irene slid her ring four days ago.)_

_The suckling sound was cut off by a sharp squeal, and the next thing Seulgi felt were hands curling around her shoulders, pushing her down—down and not away, never away._

_“Seulgi!”_

_“What?” She asked, feigned innocence that Irene didn’t even believe one bit._

_“You promised!”_

_Seulgi slotted herself in between Irene’s legs, laying on top of Irene and resting her chin on the valley between Irene’s bare chest. She propped her arms on each side for support so as to not let all of her weight fall on the smaller woman._

_Then, “Did I wear you out, Mrs Bae-Kang?”_

_She smirked at her cheekily, though she came off more adorable than smug because her eyes were starting to droop, tiredness seeping in from every sated part of her body._

_Irene’s answering laugh was low and throaty. Seulgi loved how she felt the rumble of it flutter against her own chest._

_“Hmmm.” Irene tapped a finger on her chin, pretending to think. “I don’t know.”_

_Her wife looked at her expectantly, her proud smirk turning into a pout after she had taken too long and Seulgi had to nudge her with an offended yah._

_“I refuse to dignify that with any form of response.”_

_“Are you going doctor on me now?” Seulgi playfully narrowed her eyes. “Because the geek talk is actually working.”_

_“You’re so weird,” Irene teased. “Why did I marry a weirdo?”_

_She let out a yelp when she felt Seulgi’s teeth sink on her skin, but there was a certain kind of heat that shot from the stinging spot and downwards; another when Seulgi darted her tongue out and licked, soothing that same spot._

_It pooled in between her legs, burning and demanding to be satiated. But Irene could barely even lift her head off of the lone pillow she was lying on, much less do anything else._

_“Too late to back out now, Hyun,” Seulgi said, leaning up to steal a kiss from her wife’s lips. “The pastor asked if anyone had objections and you just stared at me lovingly.”_

_“I did not!” Irene denied indignantly. Though there was a furious blush that bloomed quickly on her already flushed cheeks which told Seulgi otherwise._

_“You did.”_

_“Lies,” she hissed, pretended to push Seulgi away. “I won’t stand for this. Yah, get off! I wanna see more of Maui.”_

_But Seulgi had her locked tight inside her arms, and there was absolutely no way Seulgi was going to let her go. “No,” she moaned, dragging the syllable out. “You’re stuck with this weirdo and our future fifteen kids so...” Another kiss, then, “Better start getting used to it, huh?”_

_The soft quirk of Seulgi’s lips was enough to stop Irene’s playful thrashing, but it was the earnest adoration shining in Seulgi’s eyes that made her heart constrict right on the spot. “Yeah,” Irene whispered, smiling now too. She let nimble fingers brush Seulgi’s damp hair away from her face, grazed it down to her cheek next, her own gaze growing tender as she watched the other woman lean into the palm that cupped her jaw. “I really wouldn’t trade it for the world.”_

_Irene raised her other hand to cup Seulgi’s other cheek, pulling her wife back in for another kiss. It was gentle and sweet, the slide of their lips against each other speaking words that meant more than what they both could ever say._

_There were promises in every breath taken and I trust you in each exhale; vows written as they tasted the other’s smile on their lips and you make me the happiest in the warmth of their palms._

_Seulgi lifted herself up on her knees without breaking the kiss, though Irene never really had plans to let her pull away in the first place, judging by the fingers that were now tangled in Seulgi’s hair. Her grip only got tighter as she felt Seulgi’s weight press against her, Seulgi’s kiss turning frantic and needier, as if she was a drug that Seulgi couldn’t wait to fully taste._

_Seulgi freed a hand from where it was previously wrapped around loose, and then hooked Irene’s leg over the back of her thigh. She knew she made a promise not a long while ago, but Irene stirred all of her sparks, even ones that were buried deep within. She was a candle ignited and Irene was the blazing fire she desperately wanted to be consumed with._

_Irene was trying not to get too lost, but she was drowning in everything that was Seulgi._

_Until a thought bounced back into Irene’s mind, freezing her up. And in the end, she was the one who broke away._

_Seulgi immediately whined in protest. “Hyun!”_

_She chased her wife’s lips, but what met her was a hand that landed gently—because Irene would forever be careful with her—and she whined even more._

_“Did you say fifteen?”_

_Seulgi frowned at her, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Are we seriously going to talk about this right now?”_

_“But, Seulgi-yah,” Irene just continued, seemingly locked in on the same thought. “That’s a lot.”_

_The other woman scoffed—and if she could roll her eyes, Irene suspected she would. “I want a soccer team. Bite me.”_

_Irene’s brow then arched as she said, “A soccer team, huh?”_

_(And she did more than just bite.)_

...

  
  


When Seulgi wakes up the next morning, it’s from a dreamless sleep, and to a light, well feeling that seeps like the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window.

There are folded clothes on the empty seat by Seulgi’s head: a loose cotton shirt and sweatpants she can change into; a stock-filled fridge by the kitchen, a bowl of her favorite ramen cooling down on top of the island, and a fresh pot of coffee by the counter.

But there is no sign of Irene at all.

…

  
  


She tries to go out to drink, but ends up merely staring at the glass of vodka she has long ordered, and at her now fully charged phone that hasn’t beeped into life. 

There’s a woman who approaches her late into the night, asking for her name. Seulgi hasn’t had a drop, but as she looks at her to tell her politely that it’s probably not a good time, all she ever finds herself thinking is _how do you love the sun when you once had the universe and it loved you back_.

So she resolves on just shaking her head, with a courteous smile to take the sting of rejection away. But the woman is bold enough to snatch a napkin from the tissue tray, scribbling digits on the white sheet for all Seulgi to see.

Seulgi can only watch wordlessly as the other woman tucks the napkin in on the pocket of her plaid shirt, and yet, she simply fishes it back out, depositing it under the glass and letting the condensation from the melted cubes wash over the ink as she gets off the stool and leaves.

.

She doesn’t go back, no. She _can’t_ , not when the sheets still smell like Irene, and the scent of Irene’s shampoo is sticking on her pillows; the bits and pieces of the life they had shared together once more scattered all over the place she doesn’t think she’d ever get to call home again.

So she ambles to Eunji and Wendy’s porch at three am, completely sober, and only slowing down at the sight of the newly replaced sliding doors—last she remembers, there was a huge crack in one of the door’s glass the size of a baseball; Wendy’s fault that she tried (and succeeded) to blame on Eunji—and stops to pull herself together in one deep, shaky breath.

When she’s sure that her knees are not going to give out, she raps her knuckles against the cool glass surface until she hears the telltale clicks of the locks unhooking from inside.

“Seulgi?” Wendy greets her with a surprised yet worried look. After all, Seulgi has never turned up at such an ungodly hour. “Is everything okay?”

 _Okay_ , Seulgi thinks, how she wishes it is, then she and Irene would still be—

She swallows thickly, hardly successful in stopping the thought, then, “Yeah. It’s...”

Wendy senses that Seulgi’s going to leave it at that, so she slides the door wide open to let her in. But she doesn’t ask anymore, if something happened. She doesn’t have to. Seulgi’s face—her _everything_ , really—is a complete giveaway; it’s in the lines etched on her forehead, the clouded look in her eyes, the heavy steps as she walks inside.

The sound of the door sliding close has Seulgi tiredly sagging against the nearest wall, admittedly tempted to stay there and just wait for things to be over.

“Seulgi?” She hears Wendy call again, in a steady tone of voice that manages to be devoid of apprehension at the fact that it’s three am and yet she’s standing here, in the middle of Wendy’s hallway, looking like she has lost her world all over again.

“I—” she answers, and then closes her eyes for a few beats, willing herself to gather some semblance of anything that will make her feel like she’s not being pulled in a hundred different directions all at once. “Can I stay the night?”

“Of course,” Wendy doesn’t hesitate to answer. Though there’s another voice that she hears—Eunji’s, her brain tries to tell her—and it’s just a testament of how she’s so out of it when she doesn’t even notice the taller woman slinking in.

“I’ll go get you some pillows and a blanket, okay?”

“I—thank you.”

…

  
  


_She knew the song just by the first note, the first stroke of the piano key, and it made her smile a genuine, wide smile, happy tears pooling in her eyes._

_Seulgi breezed by in front of her then, once Mister Kang had finally let her daughter go after what Irene felt like an eternity of dancing, the taller woman’s hand already held out._

_Seulgi had curtsied next with a playful smirk. “Mrs Bae-Kang.”_

_Irene chuckled in turn, and then shook her head gently at the gesture. But she took the offered hand anyway because it was Seulgi._

_They were four sways in on their umpteenth dance for the night when Seulgi finally asked, “Are you happy, Joohyun?”_

_Irene had let Seulgi spin her around one more time before answering wholeheartedly. “Yes,” she said, in a light tone of voice that gave Seulgi a certain elated feeling, and relief. “I’ve never been this happy.”_

_“Are you sure?” Seulgi asked again, the corner of her mouth upturned into a small, soft smile._

_“I am,” the smaller woman replied, not missing a beat. “There really are no words.”_

_Seulgi didn’t even try to fight the grin that broke out, one so wide it reached up to her cheeks, and the tears she had been trying to hold back since she saw her wife walk down the aisle and towards her—while she stood by the altar, mesmerized in complete awe and disbelief—finally fell._

_But it was their wedding day. She was allowed to cry, and to smile, and to be unreasonably giddy._

_The next song that followed brought Irene close to tears again, the urge to cry only growing stronger as she and Seulgi watched Wendy, Yeri and Joy take over the microphone with grins on their faces—Irene’s in complete surprise and Seulgi’s knowing._

_Irene’s father climbed on the stage last, making Irene look back at her wife as she let out a whimper. “Seulgi.”_

_Really though, what was she going to say? Her father was a man of few words, and had probably spoken a grand total of one hundred words to Seulgi the whole time they were together and up till now. He even opted to let her mother give the speech instead._

_And yet, here he was, hooking a guitar around his shoulders while Yeri took a few steps to her side to share her mic with him. “How—”_

_“I’d do anything for you,” Seulgi had whispered then. She pried one of Irene’s hands that was looped around her neck, bringing it to her lips and brushing lingering kisses on each knuckle. “Even lose like, so many times in Yut that I didn’t have a face to show to your dad the next time we came back to visit.”_

…

  
  


_(Somewhere behind them, the pluck of strings echoed as Irene’s dad leaned in into the mic and started crooning._

_“The book of love is long and boring, no one can lift the damn thing. It’s full of charts and facts and figures, and instructions for dancing. But I love it when you read to me. And you, you can read me anything…”)_

…

  
  


_Maui felt miniscule from behind the airplane window, and yet, Irene couldn’t help but fall in love with it right away. The sky looked bluer than she had ever seen, the water beneath them just as much. It faded as it reached the shoreline, blending in with the sand and creating a perfect hue that had Irene practically bouncing on her seat. Her toes curled, already imagining how the sand would feel over her toes and underneath her feet._

_But there were still a good few minutes between her and the warm, soft sand she couldn’t wait to dig her toes in; a good few minutes that her wife absolutely despised._

_Seulgi had always hated this part of flying, that feeling of descend that left her stomach up in the air, churning; the deafening screech of the plane’s tires that grated her ears._

_Irene had heard the captain announce that they were about to land, instructing them to put the safety belts on, which she followed dutifully. She watched her wife do the same, albeit more slow and sluggish, and could clearly see how bad Seulgi’s hands were trembling._

_As soon as her belt locked in a click, she leaned forward, completely invading her wife’s personal space. She took Seulgi’s hand to lace their fingers together, her eyes twinkling, hiding both concern and worry behind curiosity and excitement. “Baby, you’ve been to other places, right?”_

_Seulgi nodded and smiled, despite her shallow breaths as she felt the plane start its descend. “A few.”_

_“What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”_

_She tilted her head, thinking, and admittedly became quite occupied with trying to fish the best memories she’d share to her wife that she failed to notice how the beat of her heart had stopped racing, slowing down at every graze of Irene’s thumb on the back of her hand._

_“The Tokyo skyline at night,” Seulgi finally answered, then, “the sunflower fields in Italy. Joy falling right on her face that one time.”_

_A smile tugged at the corner of Irene’s lips, turning into a chuckle as she reached out to playfully hit Seulgi on the arm. “Don’t be mean to Joy.”_

_Seulgi rubbed on the offended spot, like it hurt, but her eyes disappeared into one of Irene’s favorite smiles, so Irene knew she was just being playful._

_But Seulgi sobered up not even a second later, gazing at Irene’s eyes as she said, “You.”_

_Irene tsked, tongue poking out at the corner as she caught it in between her teeth. She didn’t shy away from the blush spreading on her cheeks, and instead met it head on. “You can stop with the flattery. I married you already, didn’t I?”_

_“Yeah,” Seulgi replied, still breathless in awe at the reminder that she really was going to spend the rest of her days with the love of her life. Her grin grew impossibly wider, her thumb caressing the ring on her finger unthinkingly, as if it grew a mind of its own. “Yeah, you did.”_

_Irene could only nibble at her bottom lip for a few beats in response before surging forward for a chaste but lingering kiss._

_It would never get old, Seulgi thought, how the entire world seemed to have stopped moving in those seconds that her wife’s lips were pressed against hers. And how everything would come rushing back in the moment Irene pulled away and Seulgi had to open her eyes._

_Yet, everything was really still when she finally did, coming to to the captain’s disembodied voice echoing from the intercom._

_“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Kahului Airport. We hope that you enjoy Maui and Hawaii.”_

…

  
  


Seulgi doesn’t see Irene again in the next few weeks that comes, though she never really did think she will. So she spends most of her days clocking more time in the studio. Her boss tells her to take it easy, but Seulgi knows she has to make up for the three days she disappeared without a word.

It frustrates the hell out of her because she just can’t seem to do anything right since the divorce. Can’t do her job, can’t even take care of her own self—

—can’t keep the love of her life happy enough to stay by her side.

…

  
  


On a dull, class-free afternoon, it’s Wendy who strolls inside her workplace, with Somi in the carrier and a bright smile that matched her daughter’s, both directed at her.

“Hey, this is a nice surprise,” Seulgi says, practically running to meet them halfway through.

“Somi has been missing you so I thought we should drop by,” Wendy explains, then lifts her daughter off the carrier for Seulgi to greet.

“Yeah?” Seulgi replies. She tucks her fingers beneath the baby’s chin, tickling the underside. “I missed this little princess too.”

They both grin at the pleased noise Somi makes—a cross between a laugh and a squeal—her drool dripping onto Seulgi’s hand that her small ones are trying to latch onto.

Seulgi simply wipes it off with the sleeve of her sweater, chuckling when Somi finally does manage to wrap her tiny fingers around her bigger thumb, and the little girl’s eyes grow wide as Seulgi starts making it twitch.

Wendy watches her daughter and godmother play for a few beats before asking, “Wanna go grab lunch with us?”

To which Seulgi answers quite easily. “Sure.”

The smaller woman beams at her then, both pleasantly surprised and glad that her invitation isn’t turned down with Seulgi’s usual excuses.

Somi soon loses interest with Seulgi’s thumb, gesturing for a change of hands instead. Seulgi holds both her hands up in turn, carefully taking her from Wendy’s arms and into hers.

They’re about to head out of the studio and back to the streets when they hear a familiar voice that stops them in their tracks.

“Hey Seul, let’s go have lunch?”

Seulgi turns around, responding with a genuine half-smile that makes Wendy blink, _hard and fast_.

Because it’s more than what Seulgi tends to give since _everything_ , and Wendy feels herself swallow at that, for known and unknown reasons.

“Uh, rain check on that?” Seulgi says in apology. “I’m going with my friend today.” She cocks her head, pointing at Wendy who’s standing beside her. Then, she pinches Somi’s cheek ever so gently. “And this little missy right here.”

Eunae nods her head, and still throws Seulgi a beautiful smile despite her offer getting nicely refused. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“No problem.”

 _She’d worry_ , Wendy thinks, even though it’s Seulgi’s every right to try and move on, no matter how much it’d pain her to see it because clearly, she and Irene still love each other just as much—maybe even more now.

She’d start to worry, but Seulgi turns to face her again and guides her towards the front doors, grabbing the coat hanging behind the reception counter with one hand, and stuttered words make it out of her mouth as soon as they step out into the snow-covered street.

“H-how’s Joohyun? Is she—is she doing okay?”

Wendy releases a breath she doesn’t even realize she’s been holding in, but a sharp ache takes its place, squeezing her heart at the sight of the wounded pain that dawns on Seulgi’s face.

And _God_ , she wants to tell Seulgi everything. But she can never betray Irene’s trust like that, and so she forces out a stiff nod—the tiniest hint that Irene is nowhere near okay—hoping Seulgi can pick up on it.

(She doesn’t. But Wendy supposes it’s only natural. Seulgi thinks Irene desperately wants nothing to do with her anymore after all.)

Seulgi swallows hard, pushing back the disappointment that surges up at the back of her throat. Wendy can only sigh when it dawns on her that Seulgi isn’t going to speak anytime soon, so she just continues to walk down the street.

But then Seulgi whispers to Wendy’s retreating back, almost inaudibly, “That’s… I’m glad she’s okay.” And her voice cracks in a way that makes Wendy’s heart ache incredibly so.

“Oh Seulgi,” Wendy tries to console, aims to at least spark the tiniest bit of hope in Seulgi that has died the moment Irene uttered _I want a divorce_. “For what it’s worth, I think she misses you too.”

But hope is a double-edged razor that cuts Seulgi’s hands every time she tries to cling onto it; makes Seulgi’s gaze stay forlorned, her mind blank.

And it’s like she’s only able to breathe out of reflex more than anything else, because a huge part of her feels like she’s drowning, like there’s nothing but water in her lungs and smoke swirling in her chest, suffocating her wholly.

Maybe, she really is.

…

  
  


_Being the light sleeper that Irene was, the telltale rustle of the sheets woke her up. She struggled to get her bearings, blinking the blur that was caused by sleep away, and tried to make out the figure climbing in her bed._

_It was hard, given the darkness that was blanketing the entire room. But she didn’t have to wonder that long either when the figure slid under the covers and slotted itself in on her side, their shapes fitting perfectly like the last two pieces of an intricate puzzle._

_Because, really, there wasn’t any other person that had laid by her side and felt this right._

_Irene felt an arm loop around her waist, pulling her closer, and the tip of a cold, button nose pressing on the side of her neck._

_The cold against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, but it was the rasped I’m so tired she heard that woke her up completely, the voice rough like it had been used all day._

_The corner of Irene’s lips tugged into a cooing smile. She turned to her side, so that they were face to face, and let her hand cup a fluffy cheek._

_“Why did I let Wendy drag me to that baker’s bazaar again?”_

_“Because Wendy rarely asks,” Irene answered. She let the pad of her thumb run circles on soft skin as she continued. “And because she’s our best friend, Seul.”_

_“Yeah,” Seulgi mumbled, breathing out the weariness that Irene’s touch seemed to have magically soothed. “You’re right.”_

_Irene quirked a playful brow, then, “When have I ever been wrong?”_

_“Gloating doesn’t really suit you, baby.”_

_She hit Seulgi’s exposed shoulder in retaliation, that the younger woman only chuckled at._

_._

_When the laughter trickled down into tender smiles and soft sighs, Seulgi pulled Irene to her again, and nudged Irene’s nose with her own._

_In turn, Irene closed her eyes and sighed in contentment, letting a smile bloom on her face as she felt Seulgi’s lips ghost over hers in every minute movement._

_They were impossibly closer; Irene couldn’t honestly tell where Seulgi began and where she ended. But she prefered it this way, loved how Seulgi’s front was pressed against hers, and how her legs were in between Seulgi’s; with Seulgi’s palm splayed on the small of her back, keeping her in place._

_Loved the way she could feel the warmth of Seulgi’s breath against her lips as Seulgi whispered, “Did you and Yeri have a good day?”_

_“Oh God,” Irene groaned, though it was with an amused giggle. “She was being so difficult and kept on asking if you were really sure about marrying me.”_

_Despite the drowsiness that was anchoring her lids, Seulgi’s eyes widened a little at the sound that bubbled out of Irene’s throat. She felt the rumble of Irene’s giggle on her chest, and it jolted her awake, like a shock to her system. “What? Why?”_

“ _She said, and I quote, the audacity of choosing a garden wedding and yet going for plain purple. You might as well have just gone to Vegas.”_

_“But, that wouldn’t really make a difference?” Confused, Seulgi pulled back a little, then, said, “I’d marry you anywhere. In a heartbeat.”_

_There was a small frown on her face that Irene smoothened with an endeared smile and a chaste kiss, sighing happily when she said, yes, yes you would._

_Like she still couldn’t believe it._

…

  
  


Irene has just gotten off work one night when the door to their apartment gets thrown open, and the sound of light footsteps burst in, along with the squeak of plastic wheels on their floorboards.

She stands behind the kitchen island and observes the scene with an amused grin. Wendy’s fighting with the stroller whose stubborn wheel refuses to turn, while Somi bounces on the carrier she’s strapped in, smiling a gummy smile at the sight of her godmother.

There’s clear frustration in Wendy’s tone when she says, _a little help would be nice_ that Irene finds more amusement in. The sound of her chuckles trail behind her as she leaves the island counter and takes Somi into her arms.

“I actually meant the stroller, but, okay,” Wendy laughs and then shakes her head. She deposits the stroller right next to the umbrella stand Joy has insisted on keeping, and all but throws the carrier and the diaper bag slung on her shoulder onto the couch. While Irene busies herself with blowing raspberries on Somi’s stomach.

She’s in the middle of cooing at her godchild—who responds just as enthusiastically as if they’re having a conversation, Somi’s arms darting out and reaching for Irene’s face—when her phone blares to life and rings. But she absolutely refuses to let go of Somi, the little one seemingly not wanting to, either, judging by how tight she’s gripping on the lock of Irene’s hair that she has managed to cling onto; so she looks over her shoulder to ask, “Wendy, get that for me?”

Wendy snorts at the _command_ , and at the way Irene pulls a face when Somi pulls at her hair to get her attention back. Though her smile is completely endeared at the adorable laughter that her daughter lets out as Irene turns and blows another raspberry on the baby’s stomach. She doesn’t really want it to stop, so she dutifully follows.

She trails the sound, from the living room and into Irene’s room, finds it coming from the left pocket of the white doctor’s coat resting on Irene’s bed. Wendy stoops down and blindly fishes the phone out, though she halts just as she straightens up, feeling something smooth from behind it that doesn’t seem like it belonged with the case.

Curious, Wendy ignores the incessant rings and turns the phone over instead. She supposes it can be some sort of important note about one of her patients that Irene has slipped inside her pocket, just like she always does; or a note that’s of something _else_ entirely—a number scribbled down with a name that, _God_ , Wendy hopes is not the case.

It’s _neither_.

What it _is_ is a photo, small, square and polaroid; one she remembers seeing sticking behind Seulgi’s locker door, that one time she dropped by to ask if Seulgi thought Eunji was even worth her everything.

(Seulgi had given a wholehearted _yes_ back then; Wendy wishes she can tell her the same, especially now.)

Its edges seem worn out, the corners creased from tiny folds. But the colors are just as bright as the smiles on the photographed faces, frozen into a memory that even Wendy herself knows she won’t forget.

And Wendy feels herself sigh in equal parts resignation and frustration as she wipes the smudges off of Seulgi’s face: traces of fingertips from whom Wendy doesn’t even need to guess.

She tucks the polaroid picture back in, careful not to add more folds onto it or anything, and then walks back to the living room where Irene is sitting at the couch, a now sleepy Somi tucked in her chest.

“Here, _unnie_ ,” she says as she hands the phone.

Irene gives Somi in exchange with a pout, promising to make the conversation quick as she taps on Somi’s tiny nose. She then steps into the kitchen to take the call, leaving Wendy to get Somi to sleep, and the frustration that Wendy tries so hard to ignore but festers inside her like a disease.

So much so that she lays Somi in the crib they keep at Yeri’s place as soon as Somi dozes off, and follows Irene to the kitchen.

The other woman is propped against the island counter, looking deep in thought as she listens to whoever it is on the other line rather pensively. She doesn’t even notice Wendy at first, and only really does when Wendy rounds the island in slow steps, stopping an inch away from her.

(And Wendy doesn’t, _doesn’t_ mean to listen in, but the kitchen is much too small for her _not_ to hear anything.

Doesn’t want to think anything of it, but the words that float from the other line unsettles her mind completely.

After all, _I understand that you’re thinking of requesting for a transfer_ can never mean anything good, does it?)

She’s already staring at Irene by the time the other woman ends the call, trying not to be accusing because there are two sides in every story and Wendy hasn’t heard the entirety of it. But the way Irene schools her face into something impassive—almost blank—doesn’t exactly help with assuaging the fear that blossoms on Wendy’s chest.

Still, she asks, because she’s _Wendy_. “Everything okay? That sounded like a pretty serious conversation.”

“Yes,” Irene answers, so, so easily, as if the last few minutes of her phone call never even took place and never had dread creeping up on Wendy’s chest.

Because one of her best friends could be leaving them for good and she’s helpless about it. And while that decision is Irene’s every right, too, Wendy can’t help but cling onto some desperate hope to get Irene to stay as she knows deep within her that nothing’s over, _not yet_.

So she looks down, fixing her eyes on Irene’s collar. Because while she knows she only means well, and that her only intention is to give Irene something to ponder about, the littlest nudge that she prays will go down the direction she needs it to, the guilt is already eating its way inside her. And she hasn’t even uttered a single word. “I think—I think you need to know something.”

“Okay,” Irene says, drawling the last syllable out. She sets her phone down the kitchen counter, sensing the serious conversation from a mile away. “What is it?”

Wendy opens her mouth to speak, but the words refuse to come out, ends up rolling behind her tongue.

“Wan-ah?”

“ _Unnie_ I—”

“You what?”

Wendy presses her lips together, her hand finding support on the kitchen counter as she props herself against it. “Seulgi, she—” she starts to say, fingers curling around the edge to keep herself in place. “There’s someone from Seulgi’s work. _Joohyun-unnie_ she—”

Irene stares at her for a quiet beat, but her silence is pregnant with a stunned surprise that makes Wendy’s skin crawl. Because she knows that she has just wounded Irene somewhere, despite the thoughts and the words she can’t quite manage to complete; stabbed her with a proverbial knife in her back, leaving her own fingerprints all over it.

…

  
  


Eunae comes to Irene’s mind right away, but she doesn’t really know what else to do past that, and so she starts to say, “I—” 

She tries to ignore the way her voice already cracks just at the first word, and the heat coming out of her eyes, darting out from behind the island counter, unable to meet Wendy’s knowing gaze. Because she knows that her friend is not going to miss the tears clouding her eyes. “That’s—that’s perf—that’s great—”

Yet, she can’t even bring herself to finish _that_ thought, her hand gesturing aimlessly. Not when she has _ex_ tasting like the bitter pill she’ll never be able to swallow.

…

  
  


Irene makes it to the bathroom before the last bit of resolve she has managed to scrape within her shatters completely, shoving the door open with a trembling hand as she pushes back down the sob that desperately wants to escape.

But Wendy is hot on her heels, going after her as she takes a brisk right turn towards the bathroom. She crashes into the door right before Irene can close it and lock it fully, wedging a shoe at the ample space that she almost misses.

Wendy steps in quickly, prompting Irene to walk in further. She closes the door with a shoulder and push the lock in place, while all Irene can do is stare at her shoes.

Though, Wendy doesn’t say anything. She simply stands in front of Irene, watching her every move with bated breath.

Maybe it’s the sympathy in Wendy’s eyes, or the fact that Seulgi’s really trying to live without her now, even though she was the one who pushed her to, but Irene feels the choked sob escape her throat, her fists crumpling the front of her shirt as her walls finally cave in on her.

“ _Unnie_ ,” the other woman starts, then stops when Irene looks up, only to press both heels of her palms against her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Irene says. But the whimper that comes next gives her away completely. And it seems that her tears are not planning to stop from falling the moment the first drop slipped, and so she spins away from Wendy, crashing right into the wall. “That’s—that’s what I want, right?”

“ _Joohyun-unnie_ ,” Wendy tries again, sliding closer as she watches Irene lean her head against the tiles, ragged breaths fogging the white surface.

She feels her own heart clench, seeing her best friend like this; feels it squeeze tighter when she wraps her fingers on Irene’s shoulders, and Irene’s sob breaks free from her throat as she says, “ _Seungwan_.”

Wendy doesn’t really know what breaks her heart more, the unintelligible sound that escapes from Irene’s throat, because if defeat had a sound, she knows that this would be it. Or the way Irene sinks into her knees, slowly and yet all at once, strained cries filling the dainty room and her tears pooling on the tiled floor.

…

  
  


The transfer papers come on a Thursday. Yeri’s lobbing grenades on Overwatch online when she hears her sister’s distinct footsteps pad through the floorboards; already knows what exactly it is in her sister’s hands even before Irene can tug the flap of the thick brown envelope open.

She abandons the ongoing match as Irene roots for a pen inside her bag, crossing into the kitchen to put the kettle on, and busying herself with puttering around to make tea, just so she won’t have to watch her sister sign herself into a life she’s not sure Irene even _wants_.

The water’s coming into a boil when Irene waltzes in, standing under the archway as they both stare at each other from across the small kitchen. Until Irene breaks the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yeri only presses her lips together, finds herself leaning against the nearest dining chair’s rest for support before answering. “Will it make you happy?”

Irene’s not even sure if it will. But she also feels like she’s just running around in orbits that circle her right back to Seulgi, and she’s running out of ways trying _not_ to.

So she says, “Yes.”

Even though she’s sure that nothing else will ever come close.

…

  
  


December doesn’t feel light and festive at all, despite the blinking bright lights covering every street and corner she passes by. Her living room stays the same—dark and empty—though she takes comfort at the idea that Irene’s is a little bit brighter, at least, all thanks to Yeri.

(When Seulgi said that Irene is the sunshine of her life, she _meant_ it; she never wants Irene to lose that light.)

She treats it like any other month in her year now, and sorts through her mail without any expectations of getting early Christmas cards or packages. The month’s pile is just a stack of bills anyway, with a few random letters wedged in between that she doesn’t really know why and how she has gotten.

A sterile-looking white envelope stands out of the pile, with its waxed seal stamped at the lip. Seulgi doesn’t recognize it, and, yet, she feels her heart throb beneath her chest when she flips the envelope over and finds who it’s from; feels it beat its way out when she sees who it’s addressed to.

December, as it turns out, can be unforgiving, too.

…

  
  


Irene’s just hanging the last of the candy canes on Yeri’s christmas tree—with a lopsided smile on her face that she doesn’t even know has surfaced, her head swimming in snapshots of Seulgi stealing them from what used to be their tree, and her trying to snatch it back from Seulgi’s mouth—when she hears the doorbell ring.

Yeri’s up in the attic, helping Joy get the boxes of ornaments down, so it falls on to her to get the door. Though, when Irene cracks it open, she somehow wishes she didn’t, not when she finds Seulgi at the end of her gaze, standing almost rigidly by the doorway.

(The snow has pillowed over the thick coat wrapped around Seulgi’s shoulders, her hair windswept, her eyes earnest and wild.

Irene swears she has not seen anything as beautiful as Seulgi at that moment.)

“Hey,” Seulgi greets her meekly, breaking the silence. Though, Irene just continues to stare at her wordlessly, so she’s forced to raise an awkward hand up, showing the smaller woman the envelope tucked in between her thumb and index finger. The same white envelope she has been fiddling with during those moments she felt the uncertainty take over her, until it’s replaced by the overwhelming feeling of seeing Irene again as the other woman appeared by the door. “This, uhm, this came in the mail,” she explains. “It’s for you.”

Her voice is neutral, but it pierces right through the pounding in Irene’s ears.

“Thank you,” Irene _finally_ replies, one long beat later. She swallows the lump that has seized her throat as she watches Seulgi shift her weight onto one foot.

Seulgi clears her own before speaking again. “Busan Presbyterian, huh? That’s a—I heard it’s a really great hospital.”

Irene can only nod in kind. She has known since two days ago, when she received the acceptance letter in her email, and a call from _Busan Pres’_ chief of surgery to personally congratulate and welcome her. She has felt accomplished ever since, but there’s a certain emptiness that punches a hole through such a significant moment. 

And the way Seulgi whispers _congratulations_ only ever magnifies that feeling, that Irene’s reply is matched with a dimly lit smile. “Thank you.”

Seulgi doesn’t really know what else there is left to say, but she feels the need to ask, to hear it from Irene’s lips. “W-when do you leave?”

“In two weeks,” the other woman says as the hand left wrapped around the door knob grips it tighter, pulling the door closer as if it’s some sort of shield. “Maybe after the New Year, at the latest.”

Seulgi falters for one beat, taking one step back. She almost sputters when she speaks, though she manages to reign it in. But she can’t quite will her voice not to crack. “That’s—that’s really soon.”

“Yeah, I—” Irene starts, and then stops, because, _really_ , what is she supposed to say? Admit it out so openly, that yes, _maybe_ she had taken the cowardly way out, when she can’t even admit that to her own self—when she keeps telling herself, and everyone else, that she’s just grabbing an opportunity that presented itself; a consequential point in her career that she can’t afford to miss.

In the end, she can only sigh tiredly, having gone through the same conversation a billion times with her parents, her sister, and her friends. Though, none of them knows anything other than what Irene has given them. “Their neuro chief is picking fellowship candidates earlier than planned. I wanted to get a head start, I guess.”

“That’s…” Seulgi starts, and then pauses, looking away as she heaves a deep breath. She’s blinking faster than she has been since she first saw Irene, and Irene _knows_ what’s going to happen next—can see the wetness prickling Seulgi’s eyes—but she can’t seem to move nor do _anything_ about it.

It takes a good long beat for Seulgi’s throat to stop constricting at the restraint it takes to keep herself together, and for her chest to ease. Though, only when her jagged breaths get even does she look back at Irene.

“I’m… I’m really proud of you, Joohyun,” she says, in a tone of voice that shoots Irene back to almost a year ago, going from a fight that had shaken them both but ended up in the warmest kisses and joyful tears, and a reconciliation that solidified their places in each other’s lives.

 _God_ , what happened?

“You’ve always been meant to do the greatest things,” Seulgi continues to speak as she crosses the ample distance that separates her from Irene. “But for that to happen…”

It almost feels like déjà vu, Irene thinks, except Seulgi is cupping her face, leaning closer, and Irene’s not walking away in tears.

“Seulgi…” Irene whimpers.

Seulgi stoops down, but then stops, her lips a hair’s breadth away from Irene’s. “I need to let you go.”

And then Seulgi is gone, leaving Irene alone in the middle of her doorway, secluded in her own thoughts, with the soft feel of Seulgi’s lips tingling on her forehead.

…

  
  


Walking away, Seulgi unballs a hand, pressing the heel of it against her chest. And as the weight of it pushes and then eases, she wonders how many more pieces she could give before breaking completely.

She doesn’t really think she still has much left.

…

  
  


December turns from unforgiving to poignant, as Irene stares at the now spotless spare room at Yeri’s apartment that had been her refuge for the past months, with two suitcases and a modest black carry-on as the only sights that look out of place.

December is two more weeks and a half of pretending that Yeri’s sad eyes isn’t making her want to change her mind, _two more weeks and a half of_ turning down Wendy’s coffee invites, and only ever babysitting Somi when there’s absolutely no choice.

Two more weeks and a half of resisting the urge to dial Seulgi’s number even in her worst states.

Christmas Eve almost comes as a surprise, with her completely losing track as her days blend into two things: work and three to four hours of sleep, with her ample spare time spent on transitioning the cases she’d be leaving to Yongsun.

( _That_ in itself is another story, because while Yongsun keeps everything professional, Irene can feel Yongsun’s almost desperate need to ask her to stay. But neither of them knows how to get past handing off patients’ charts and Irene briefing histories, doesn’t know how to go further than _I know you’ll blow people away_ , and so Yongsun keeps it at that.)

Wendy and Eunji offer their relatively new house for their annual get together. So here they are now, puttering around the house and zipping in and out of the kitchen as they prepare the dinner they’d be feasting on in an hour.

But it’s noticeably more quiet than their past Christmas dinners together, with an absence that they feel in ripples; like the sky, spread over everything.

It isn’t Somi’s cute, loud coos now that she’s sleeping in her crib, nor Joy and Yeri’s bickering, or Wendy trying to hit on her wife by telling her how she looks good enough to eat in her new button up shirt.

They all know who it is, but no one is brave enough to do anything other than greet each other a meek _Merry Christmas_.

Irene arrives a little later than planned, for some last minute gift shopping that she has to run to—more stuff for her goddaughter that the little one clearly doesn’t need but Irene splurges on without any guilt.

(She might never get the chance again.)

She deposits them all on the table that Eunji has set up by the fireplace, festive paper bags and wrapped gifts alike, and a rectangular box that she lets sit on the middle, with a _Merry Christmas, Seulgi_ scribbled on the card stuck to it; waltzes straight into the kitchen to place the dish she has brought with her next.

(It’s a wooden pencil case, with intricate carvings that serve as borders around the _Seulgi_ engraved on the middle of the lid. She has seen it displayed on an art supplies store’s window she passed by, that one day everything felt so much and there was so much hurt that she had taken a long drive home. It reminded her of nothing but Seulgi, that she couldn’t just let her _not_ have it.)

She greets everyone with kisses on their cheeks, and maybe one or two digs against the ugly sweater Yeri made Joy wear on purpose; leans over the crib that’s by Wendy’s room to greet her goddaughter too, fixing the ruffled blanket to make sure that Somi is still tucked snugly under her baby blue covers.

It honestly feels like one of their usual dinners. Except, Wendy catches her craning her neck as she ambles around, as if she’s searching for someone even though she doesn’t really want to admit it. A taller figure that once meant the world to her, her very own sun and moon.

( _She_ still does.)

Wendy can only smile sadly at that. She waits for Irene to step back inside the living room, trailing her gaze at her until Irene has sunk in on one of the single couch seats before she speaks, “Seulgi stopped by earlier to drop the gifts off.”

Irene’s head snaps to the side, her eyes as wide as a deer caught in headlights. But she quickly schools her face, though she can’t really stop her brows from furrowing deep. “She’s not coming?”

Wendy shakes her head, feeble and almost afraid to. “She said she has plans.”

“Oh,” is all Irene can say. Yet, her treacherous mind is already flashing images inside her head; of a tall blonde woman with pretty eyes and a bright smile who can talk to Seulgi about Frida Kahlo all night. And Van Gogh in Paris. And how she doesn’t think she’d ever get Abstract.

(It would be nice. It would be easy. And most of all, it wouldn’t hurt.)

They both turn silent for a moment as Irene wrestles with the various scenes in her head, while Wendy just studies her, sighing when Irene’s face pulls taut—a sure sign that she’s managed to reign it in.

Yet the way her lips quiver as she purses them is a giveaway that gifts Wendy of hope, bolstered by the crease that settles in between Irene’s eyebrows.

“I didn’t ask what they were. I didn’t want to pry.”

“Of course,” Irene replies; tries to quip, “too bad she’ll miss the bulgogi I made.”

But it hits her all the same, square on her chest. And she finds herself looking at the fingers curled around the throw pillow plopped on her lap too tight, wondering when exactly did she decide to make that trade: Seulgi’s heart for a grenade.

.

By the time midnight strikes, they have already torn through half of their gifts. Somi has the biggest haul among them, followed by Yeri after Irene practically showered her gifts for letting her stay with her and Joy.

Irene expects to be lacking one gift this year, and she’s perfectly fine with it. She’s prepared to go home with a paper bag that’s one weight lighter. 

(And a heart that’s one more piece less. 

Because it feels wrong, it _feels_ so wrong that Irene is here and Seulgi isn’t, but Irene doesn’t really know how to fix it.)

But then, Yeri’s standing up from her seat, asking her not to leave. She would’ve wondered out loud why, but her sister heads straight to the spare room and asks her to follow, not giving Irene a chance to speak.

Irene feels her heart climb up in her throat in every step she takes; feels it settling in as they reach the closed door. It’s not that she’s expecting Seulgi to be behind it, but Irene doesn’t really know what she’d do if Seulgi _isn’t_ , either.

Yeri lifts a hand to twist the knob, and takes her by the other to pull her inside. The room is empty, though Irene doesn’t know if the way her lungs are constricting is out of relief or _something_ else. Still, she manages to slow down her racing heart, just enough to throw her sister a quizzical look. “Yerim, what is this?”

“Seulgi-unnie asked me to give you something,” Yeri confesses right away. “And I figured, you’d want to open it without anyone else looking.”

“What?”

Yeri trudges towards the lone nightstand in the room, pulling the drawer open to retrieve a modest square object. It’s wrapped in gold paper with purple snowflakes on it, Irene sees as soon as Yeri walks back to where she’s standing, and adorned with a purple ribbon to finish.

It doesn’t have any note or card stuck on any of its surface, but the choice of the wrapping paper alone has Seulgi’s fingerprints all over the gift.

Yeri offers it to her with a steady hand; Irene accepts it with trembling fingers. She _never_ expected to get anything, but now that she has, she’s not really sure what to do with it.

…

  
  


She ends up sitting at the edge of the guest bed, staring at Seulgi’s still wrapped gift propped on her lap, as if it’s a puzzle that holds an important piece of her life, one that she needs to solve. 

Yeri has long stepped out of the room to give her the space she clearly needs, yet, Irene can’t seem to find the strength to do _anything_ , as if merely untying the ribbon will unravel her own self.

But Irene knows that she really can’t stay in this same spot all night either, while debating with herself whether or not to strip it open. And so she takes one end in between her fingers, tugs at the lace, and watches it unspool with perfect grace.

She sets the ribbon aside before starting to rip the wrapper off. Though her next move is a short, deep breath—almost heaving—as she lifts a leather-bound sketchbook from beneath the paper rubble. 

She remembers _what_ it is exactly: her gift to Seulgi, this same time, a year ago.

Irene knows it’s blank—she had never really seen Seulgi draw on it ever since she gave it—and she can’t help but think that maybe Seulgi really did mean what she said; returning something she once prized to show _how much_.

(She purses her lips at that, biting hard on her cheek just so something _else_ other than the sudden ache that presses in on her chest hurts.)

But, just the first page alone is proving her otherwise, Irene soon realizes, when she lifts the cover open and finds a penciled version of her staring right back. Though, her hair was tied in a messy bun, with some locks escaping that Seulgi was able to frame perfectly. 

And there was a soft, shy smile on her face, one Irene remembers vividly, from the day Seulgi asked if she could spend her life with her and she’d said yes.

Irene no longer knows what hurts more.

…

  
  


(In the next sketch-filled pages, this is where she finds out that maybe, _maybe_ , they are infinite. Rare, and delicate, and beautiful.

On the last, this is where she realizes that in a hundred different lifetimes and in a hundred different worlds, it will only be Seulgi. 

_Always_.)

…

  
  


Yeri gets pulled out of her worried thoughts by the sound of muffled sniffling wafting from behind the spare room’s door. She shoots up from where she’s sitting guard, blindly reaching for the door knob and pushing it open with almost too much force.

She all but stumbles her way inside. From the dim light of the lamp by the nightstand, she can make out Irene’s form sitting at the edge of the mattress.

She’s hunched over, a mouth covering the choked sobs escaping her throat. Though, what catches Yeri’s full attention is the leather-bound notebook that’s lying on her sister’s lap. It’s held open by Irene’s other hand, to a page that Yeri can’t really see what is on.

The brush of Yeri’s shoes alerts Irene to her presence. She looks up, though she doesn’t wipe at her cheeks to hide the tears away, and that sends a pang of ache straight to Yeri’s heart that she almost physically feels.

“ _Unnie_ , are you okay?” Yeri can’t help but blurt out; can’t help but run towards her sister at the sight of the pained look on Irene’s face. And Irene has known her long enough to discern the underlying _what just happened_ in her tone.

A lot of things had; she’s afraid she doesn’t really know where to start.

Irene feels another sob rumble from deep within her chest. She ends up freeing the hand holding the leather sketchbook, and cups both over her face, burying the sound there.

Yeri, in turn, drops right next to where her sister is, picking up the notebook from her lap. She simply wants to put it away, especially now that she’s seeing Irene like this, but as she’s about to flip it to a close, her eyes catch the penciled sketch on the page.

Irene was beaming in it, with a sparkle in her eyes that Seulgi has captured so impeccably. There was a flower tucked in her air, and a crinkle on her nose that Yeri admittedly hasn’t seen in a while.

(It isn’t the first time Yeri is seeing her sister in Seulgi’s eyes, but it feels more now somehow, that even after everything, Seulgi’s vision of her hasn’t changed.)

Right on the adjacent page are two notes scribbled in Seulgi’s neat scrawl. One of them is addressed for Irene, with the other almost bringing Yeri down to her knees. But Yeri soldiers on after reading it, whispering, “ _Joohyun-unnie_.”

“I think I made a mistake,” Irene just says, voice cracking at the last two words that robs her completely of air. “I made a mistake.”

Yeri feels it resonate down to her core; can’t help but start feeling weak and helpless because she heard the words in the most broken tone of voice she’s ever heard Irene speak, and there’s a churning in her gut that makes her own throat ache.

“I made a mistake and I don’t know how to fix it.”

It tugs on her heartstrings in the most painful way. So Yeri just wraps an arm around her sister and pulls her a little bit more closer.

…

  
  


_Joohyun,_

_I know you’re going to be a great mom, and that whoever you’re going to raise a family with will be so lucky to have you. I wish it was still with me, but I know now that I can never get you back. So, my wish to you is nothing but happiness. And I know that to have that, you should always follow your heart._

.

_To the one who loves her next,_

_Joohyun will love you with everything she has, and she would ask for very little in return. So please, give her all the world. She deserves the universe._

_Don’t make the same mistake that I did. Make her happy in all the ways I couldn’t._

_Let me be the last name you’ll hear in passing, and please, love her more than I could ever have._

…

  
  


Christmas passes like a blur, with New Year’s Eve almost feeling foreign as she walks back into her apartment. Work has kept her inside the studio for the most part of her days, even though there are less classes to teach due to the holidays.

But there’s a lingering sense of familiarity that envelopes Seulgi as soon as she gets off her stop and turns right on the corner of the street where her complex is—her _reality_ now, and maybe for the rest of her days, when _her_ universe shifts and Irene becomes half a world away.

And it’s only thanks to Wendy that she _knows_ this, when her best friend called her the night before to ask something they both knew wasn’t going to happen.

“ _Do you want to come with us when we take Irene-unnie to the station?”_

And Seulgi had answered, “I’m—I can’t. I can’t stand there and watch my whole world walk away from me.”

She had done it once, Seulgi doesn’t have anymore of her heart left to do it again.

Though, that conversation has been playing in her mind over and over, so much so that Seulgi barely misses walking straight to the black car parked in front of her complex’s path. It looks familiar, though she doesn’t really remember it being there when she first got out, and she’s too weary to think about who can possibly be the irresponsible owner.

The lobby’s unnaturally empty for such a momentous time of the upcoming year. Seulgi supposes the hallways of her floor will be too, since her neighbors have opted to go on their own vacations, and the way she can already hear the floor thumping from the apartment above hers (just like it does every year) makes her want to down the boxed wine she’s bought in one go.

Maybe then she’d fall asleep and wake up in a different time, where nothing hurts and she’d found her happiness in the very same place she lost it.

The elevator _dings_ , Seulgi pulls the lapels of her coat closed before stepping inside, letting the cold, sharp air sting her lungs.

…

  
  


Only to have it knocked out, because standing right in front of her apartment’s door is the happiness she desperately wants back.

…

  
  


Her voice stands out from the bass thumping from the floors above, the one voice that makes Irene’s heart race and stop its beating at the same time.

“Joo-Joohyun? What are you doing here?”

Slowly, she watches Irene turn around, her breath catching up in her throat at the sight of her in the winter coat that they’ve bought together. It feels like the longest seconds of her life, the time it takes for her to finally look at Irene and meet her eyes.

And, _God,_ Seulgi missed her so, so, much.

...

  
  


The box she’s carrying in her hand lands on the ground, with such a resounding thud that Seulgi’s sure the slice of carrot cake inside it has been splattered.

But once Irene sees the box, she only feels herself fall all over again. So she says, “You told me to follow my heart, so here I am.”

A stunned surprise takes over Seulgi’s face, showing Irene just how much Seulgi has resigned herself to the fact that everything between them is _really_ over, and that they’d have to live the rest of their lives in separate ways. 

Her watery smile turns heavy, dropping a little from the thought. Still, she soldiers on, wading through the uncertainty and the heartache they’ve both brought to themselves. “Because you said that I’m going to be a great mom. And that I’d raise a family with whoever I’d be with. But, _Seul_ ,” Irene pauses, heaving a deep breath when her voice both wraps around and cracks at Seulgi’s name, then, “every time I close my eyes, I only see your face. It’s your—it’s your keys I hear by my door.”

“Joohyun—”

Irene just stares at her for a long moment, eyes darting around Seulgi’s face—as if Seulgi’s going to disappear at any second, or has changed her mind about them, about family, about _everything_ —before she continues. “I don’t—I can’t see anyone else, Seulgi,” she says in a soft voice. “All I see is you. All I need is you. But I want a child too. And I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Hyun-ah,” Seulgi gently shushes, her own face twisting as Irene’s face crumples and Irene’s hands prop against her stomach, fingers curled and twiddling in a way that looks like it hurt.

Irene shakes her head. Her hair falls at the movement, the locks turning to a curtain that shrouds her eyes. “I just know—I just know that I don’t want to be with anyone else. I want _you_.”

Though, Seulgi can still see the conflicted look on Irene’s face. She quickly rushes to her side, pulling Irene towards her and encasing her in her arms, holding her like a dream she’s scared of losing while she’s on the brink of waking up.

“But Hyun-ah, you don’t have to choose,” Seulgi soothes. “Because I meant it. I’ve always meant it. I did when I told you that—that night,” she falters at the end, swallowing hard as the memory of their big fight surfaces from the parts she had buried it in. 

And Irene must see it in her face, in the way it breaks, as if she’s living it all over again, because Irene reaches out and cups her cheek, the pad of Irene’s thumb tenderly brushing on the curves of her cheekbones. She only nods, too, telling Seulgi that she gets what she means.

Seulgi leans into her touch, well-missed. It settles the cloud of uncertainty that brews inside her, cementing the truth that it will always be Irene. “I meant it, when I told you I wanted it. And when I saw you with Somi for the first time, I’ve never wanted anything so bad.”

Irene slides her hands down Seulgi’s shoulders, letting her arms wind around Seulgi’s neck. And when Irene buries her face in that space between her neck and her shoulder, it’s the first time in months that Seulgi feels like she can breathe. “I guess I just got used to the idea that we’ll always have time. But I didn’t make time, did I?” she confesses. “I’m sorry.”

“I got scared,” Irene then admits, conceding. “That after all this time, and all the promises, you changed your mind. So I ran. Because I was so scared you’d one day tell me you don’t want to do it anymore, and that’d break my heart.”

Her hold on Seulgi only ever tightens, and Seulgi welcomes her warmth wholeheartedly. “But, leaving you, Seulgi, it broke me. Even if I chose to let you go.” 

“ _Baby,_ ” Seulgi finds herself saying; hears more than feels the sharp breath Irene takes upon hearing it. She slightly pulls back from the other woman, a little distance that’s enough for her to meet her gaze, and yet never too far away, and then cups Irene’s cheeks. She lets the pads of her thumbs brush the hair shrouding her eyes, and revels at the way Irene leans into her touch.

(She probably will never get used to it—to getting what she wants, seeing what she wants, feeling what she needs.)

“We’d be eighty two and wrinkly, and our fifteen kids have grown, but I’d still do it all over again with you.”

Irene’s sob breaks into a watery laugh as her chest heaves. But it’s from relief, and not the desperation that once latched in onto her rib cage just a few minutes ago. “Still fifteen, huh?”

Seulgi frees a hand from cupping Irene’s face to let her fingers run through Irene’s hair. She brushes them away, and then cups Irene’s cheeks once more, her own heart turning beneath her chest as she watches Irene close her eyes and lean forward, pressing their foreheads together. “Yeah,” Seulgi says after swallowing her own sob. “I want a soccer team, remember?”

(And Irene both loves and hates how it makes her feel like there was never any distance between them. How one stroke of Seulgi’s hand on her hair erases days, and weeks, and months of nights filled with _I don’t want to live without you, but I have to_.)

Irene’s smile grows quickly into a grin, though the rest of the tears are flicked away as she nods eagerly in answer. She covers Seulgi’s hands with her own, closing her eyes again as Seulgi pulls back to plant a lingering kiss on her forehead. Then, she answers, “I do. I do.”

Silence passes for a beat before Seulgi speaks again. “C-can I,” she starts to say, but pauses to swallow thickly. “Can I kiss you?”

At Irene’s nod, her face loses all of its remaining defenses, giving in completely to the warmth and affection that fills her at the sight of Irene’s watery smile.

And, really, she doesn’t know anything else to say, and the words are left bundled in her throat, lodged along with her heart that’s pounding beneath her chest.

So she does the only thing she knows can properly convey every single emotion coursing through her; the only thing she knows can say the words _I love you just as much as I did before, maybe even more now; I won’t let you go again_ without speaking.

Seulgi surges forward, creating new promises in every breath taken and _I’m sorrys_ in each exhale; vows re-written as they taste the other’s tears on their lips and _I forgive you_ in the warmth of their palms.

…

  
  


It’s the countdown that breaks them apart, with Irene smiling a smile that she hasn’t worn in a while. Though, it’s replaced by a small frown as Seulgi pulls away, just when the muffled shouts of backward counting from above them reaches _three_.

Seulgi takes her hand at _two_ , and she asks, _Seul, where are we going_ at _one._

Seulgi’s answering smile is one that Irene missed most, borne from the the way Irene calls her name, like it holds a thousand unspoken promises she can’t wait to fulfill.

But maybe, maybe, what she says next is what Irene missed even more. “Home.”

...

  
  


Home is Seulgi’s apartment that was once _theirs_ , though Seulgi knows they’d fix that soon, too.

Inside, Irene all but gulps down a whole glass of water, before patting at the space next to her on the couch.

Seulgi dutifully sits. Irene, in turn, scoots closer, once again finding _home_ and burying her nose in that spot on Seulgi’s neck that she has always favored and sorely missed.

This is how Wendy finds them as she bursts inside the apartment, looking harried with her ruffled hair and the tiniest balls of snow all over her head.

Seulgi freezes in surprise, but Irene stays burrowed on her side (and Seulgi swears she even moves impossibly closer when Wendy speaks).

“Thank _God_ ,” Wendy spits out. “You got us so worried, Irene-unnie. Yeri thought you left without saying goodbye.” She puts a hand over her chest as she tries to catch her breath, then says, a little teasingly. “But I think she’d be ecstatic to know that you two have got it figured out.”

Irene only waves a lazy hand to acknowledge Wendy’s presence, but it’s Seulgi who she mumbles at through a yawn, “Still got so much to talk about, but I’m so tired, baby.”

And they _have_ ; things like Irene’s transfer to Busan, and how they’d make it work if it pushes through.

But they have tomorrow to figure that one out, and, _really_ , the rest of their lives too. So, Irene says, “Can we take a nap? I don’t think I’ve had any proper sleep.”

A smile takes over Wendy’s face as she watches a stunned Seulgi morph into an endeared one, her gaping mouth stretching into a fond smile. Seulgi then wraps her arms around Irene’s waist, and presses a lingering kiss on the crown of Irene’s head. “Okay.”

Wendy has to clear her throat as if to remind the two of her existence. “Uhm, I guess I’ll be going then. I gotta check on Somi and make sure she’s sleeping on her crib. You know how weak Eunji is for her.”

Seulgi chuckles at that, her eyes folding into crescents that Wendy can’t deny she has sorely missed. And then she gets this spark of good mischief halfway through her laugh, one that rattles both her and Irene. “Me in nine months or so. Or ten.”

Though, it’s Wendy who recovers first, rolling her eyes when she says, “Oh my God you dummy, ten is overdue.”

The taller woman only grunts at her in answer, and then groans. “Whatever! It’s too early for numbers anyway.”

Wendy snorts a laugh at the reply Seulgi lobs back to her, shaking her head. “And that’s my cue. Happy New Year, you two.” She jerks her thumb at the door, moving to leave, with the sound of Irene’s well-missed giggle fading as she closes the front door.

Happy New Year indeed.

…

  
  


When Irene wakes up the next morning, there’s a smile on her face that she almost doesn’t recognize, a grin that revels in the feel of warmth, and comfort, and love.

They lie facing each other without a hair’s breadth of distance in between them. Because that’s what all the months that have gone has given them—nothing but distance, and a hole in their lives shaped like each other.

For months, Seulgi woke up and walked the earth with an Irene-shaped hole in her life. And the Seulgi-shaped hole in Irene’s life is a void that can only be filled by her.

Though, admittedly for a moment, Seulgi feels this sudden sense of dread that creeps up on her spine, afraid that she has just dreamed of everything—that maybe she _still_ is. 

Irene lifts a hand, resting it on Seulgi’s cheek to give it a squeeze. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

The Seulgi right after the divorce would’ve looked away and left the sincerity unanswered. Post-divorce Seulgi would’ve been scared, would’ve caved at the fear that presses its weight on her chest, fear that Irene doesn’t really mean it.

But she’s a whole new Seulgi now. She’s a new Seulgi who has lost the love of her life once; who has woken up most nights to a familiar space she can’t bear to call home; who has eaten breakfast alone in a table that’s meant for two.

She now knows what it feels like to lose Irene. So no, Seulgi doesn’t shy away. She keeps her eyes on Irene, and lets a smile bloom on her lips at Irene’s fond gaze.

She catches Irene’s hand just as the woman is pulling it back, pressing the softest kiss at the back of it first, and then turning it over to press a kiss on her open palm.

Seulgi lets the kiss linger for a good long beat before speaking. “Nothing,” she says as she intertwines their hands, her fingers filling the spaces in between Irene’s own perfectly, the way they’ve always been molded to fit. “I’m just really happy.”

She lets their laced hands rest on the miniscule space in between them; and then smiles even wider when she feels Irene brushing the hair falling on eyes with Irene’s free one.

Irene then licks at her lips, smiles a shaky smile as she asks, “Yeah?”

Seulgi nods gently, lifting their locked hands to press another kiss at the back of Irene’s, letting it linger there when Irene softly says:

“Me too.”

...

  
  


_i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love; we are good people, and we’ve suffered enough_

_\- seventy years of sleep # 4, nikka ursula_

They’re already fighting first thing in the morning, Irene honestly can’t believe it.

She’s standing right at the foot of the king-sized bed, with a hand propped against her hip and another massaging her temple, while she continuously glares at the sleeping form lying on the middle of the bed, bundled in a thick blanket.

This can’t be happening.

“Seulgi,” Irene calls, her tone pregnant with warning. “Seulgi, wake up.”

The entire room is silent for a beat, save for the sound of Irene’s frustrated breaths. But the sheets rustle as Seulgi turns to lie on her stomach, grumbling a stubborn no before covering her head with a pillow.

Because there’s just no way, no way she’s leaving the most heavenly bed and the comfiest pillows at seven in the morning.

Irene throws a quick glance at the wall clock. When she sees that ten minutes have passed since she started trying to wake the other woman up, she scrunches her face. She only has thirty more minutes to spare, or all of her plans—everything she has worked on with their friends for months—will go to waste.

“Yah, Seulgi, wake up!” Irene bunches the bottom of the blanket into a fist, tugging it down. But it’s wrapped around Seulgi so tightly it doesn’t even budge.

She gives it two more tugs before throwing her hands up in surrender and marching out of the room with the biggest scowl on her face.

Because they should be setting up the tables and chairs, and hanging the decorations on the small, wooden tree house that’s perched on the sturdy tree. A stout oak that’s standing at the corner of the large backyard of this new, and really, really fancy house they’ve bought together, fifteen minutes away from Wendy and Eunji’s.

But instead, Seulgi is snoring and gallivanting somewhere in Dreamland.

 _Unbelievable_.

Irene’s still stomping her way out when she finds Wendy crouched on the floor, passing the time by playing with the baby inside the playpen.

Wendy lifts her head at the sound of her footsteps, greets her with a bright smile. “You guys ready?”

“Just a few more minutes,” she answers. “Someone is refusing to wake up.”

Wendy chuckles. “Do you want me to call Joy to take care of it?”

Irene hums, seriously considering, because she knows Joy can go to the extremes to wake Seulgi up; something both she and Wendy don’t have the heart to. But it’s her birthday and _oh_ , she loves her so, so she just shakes her head and says, “I’ll do it.”

Eunji, who is right next to her wife, stoops down to put their oldest, Somi, inside the pen too. Irene smiles at her as she sticks a hand out in greeting, which grows whimsical at the sight of the the three of them all showered and dressed in matching dresses, shirts and shorts.

Though, she still throws Eunji a good-natured glare, to which the taller woman only laughs at.

“Irene, it’s been over three years. You still hate me for it?” Eunji tells her.

“A small part of me is always going to hate you for it,” she answers. For being Eunae’s acquaintance and not telling her about it.

She’s resolved to give the taller woman hell some more, but there’s movement inside the pen that catches her attention. It’s the younger baby, Sunbin, getting to her feet, and then cooing at the sight of Irene.

The baby’s coos grow louder at the sound of Irene’s voice, letting go of the pen’s soft railing that she has been holding on onto for support once Irene gets closer, standing on shaky legs and buckling knees as she holds both her hands up. Her tiny fingers curl and uncurl, beckoning to be picked up.

“Bin-ah,” Irene coos back, feeling like her heart is about to burst—and goodness, it’s just seven in the morning. She lifts her up, carrying her in her arms, and presses one, two, three kisses on her temple. “Did you have fun playing with Auntie Wan?”

Little Sunbin presses her lips together, the way babies do when they’re about to talk, or make a sound. Then, she says _ma_ , with the sound lingering on the m.

She’s a little more than one now and a few more inches taller, the dimples at the corners of her mouth even more deeper. It’s when it hits Irene, square on the chest; the reminder that she’s growing too fast. Irene kind of just wants for her daughter to stop growing for a little while longer, and that just makes her press two more—the last one lingering.

But she still has Seulgi to wake up, so she tells Wendy just as she pulls back. “We’ll be back.” Then ducks her head to stare at Sunbin’s eyes. “Hopefully with this one’s mom in tow.”

She kisses the crown of Somi’s head hello, and then turns around to retreat back to their bedroom.

…

  
  


As Irene steps inside, she finds Seulgi awake on their bed, _finally_ , facing the open door as if she has been looking at Sunbin and her.

(And for a moment, she stares back, eyes darting between the bed and Seulgi and wondering how she ever managed to sleep on any other bed that didn’t have Seulgi in it.)

Seulgi’s face is covered with the blanket from the nose down, but Irene doesn’t need to see Seulgi’s lips to know that she’s grinning. The glimmer in her eyes says it all.

Sunbin doesn’t need to, too. She bounces in Irene’s arms, cooing and squealing at the sight of her other mother.

Irene’s shaking her head as she walks in. And when she stops, at the side of the bed this time, she arches an eyebrow. “So you’ve finally decided to wake up.”

In turn, Seulgi darts a hand out from under the blanket, patting the empty space on the bed wordlessly.

Irene rolls her eyes, but, she sits down anyway.

“Seulgi-yah, I’m serious. We really need to get moving in twenty minutes or so.”

Seulgi tugs the blanket down, revealing a pout. “You haven’t even greeted me good morning yet.”

“I’ve been trying to wake you up for the last fifteen minutes.” Irene curls her other arm around Sunbin, palm pressing flat on her back to settle her down. And Seulgi feels her heart swell in folds at the exact same expression that dawns on both their faces, their brows furrowed, looking put out.

But her gaze locks in on the gold band on Irene’s finger, glittering under the sunlight streaking through their windows and against Sunbin’s white shirt.

Her pout morphs into a huge grin, which makes Irene narrow her eyes at her.

“What are you smiling at?”

“A few things,” Seulgi starts, then, she slowly rises from the bed to sit. The blanket falls on her lap, revealing a tangerine tank top, which makes Irene swallow visibly at the sight. “But first things first, good morning Mrs Bae-Kang.”

Irene, who badly wants to stay annoyed at the other woman, looks away. She tips her head a little back up, though, Seulgi catches the ghost of the giddy smile she’s trying to hide.

Seulgi bumps her forehead against Irene’s shoulder to get her to look back; and when her wife finally does, she leans in for the sweetest kiss. The kind that shoots warmth down to her spine and makes her toes curl; steals the strength in her knees, and robs her chest completely of air.

When they pull away, Seulgi scoots up, leaning against the headboard. Sunbin climbs up to her as soon as Irene sets her down, and settles her head on Seulgi’s chest, her other favorite spot in the whole world.

Seulgi then starts running slow circles on Sunbin’s back, that the little girl’s eyes start to droop. Irene half-heartedly _tsks_ in disapproval, but it’s such an endearing sight that a huge part of her is also tempted to just hop on the bed and forget about their plans for today.

She comes to a compromise, sitting on the empty space right next to Seulgi and leans towards her, watching her wife rain gentle kisses on the crown of Sunbin’s head.

Seulgi’s hand stops its motion. She tilts her head and looks down, peeking at her daughter whose eyes are finally closed.

“You know she’s going to throw a tantrum if we wake her up in a few minutes, right?” Irene says. Her tone is chiding, but she’s looking at Seulgi and Sunbin with sparkling eyes, and her hand is reaching out on top of Seulgi’s that’s resting on Sunbin’s back.

“I know,” Seulgi replies. She grins at her wife, and then gently lets her free arm wrap around Irene’s shoulders, pulling her close. “But we’ve got time, right? We can make time?”

Irene narrows her eyes for a few beats, sighing in resignation the next. She stoops down to kiss Sunbin’s forehead, and rises back up to meet Seulgi’s warm gaze. “Yeah,” she says, leaning up to kiss Seulgi again, and take her breath with her as she pulls back. “We can.”

It has been over three years since they found themselves in each other’s arms again, since that night on their apartment where their worlds had stopped spinning madly out of their axes and righted themselves, and everything else fell into place.

And all Seulgi can think of saying is, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you and Sunbin.”

**Author's Note:**

> reposting bec this was deleted the first time, and i may or may not be regretting that completely.
> 
> let me know what you guys think! you can come yell at me @ [inanotheruniversemusings](https://inanotheruniversemusings.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> and if you liked my work (and my other stuff), you can also check my tumblr if you're looking for ways to support me (like buying me coffee :D)


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